The Mark of a Hero
by Littleforest
Summary: After the disastrous end to his fifth year, Harry is back at No. 4, Privet Drive for the summer. With grief and the pressure of the prophecy weighing him down, Harry struggles to keep going, but this time he is not left to suffer alone. As his 6th year progresses, can Harry's friends and mentors show him that he still has something worth fighting for? A 'canon-friendly' story.
1. Nothing Left

**Longer summary: **After the events of the Department of Mysteries at the end of his fifth year, Harry is left back at the Dursleys to deal with the aftermath, as well as his newly discovered role in the war effort. However, unlike last summer, this time he is not going to be alone. Follow Harry and his friends as they try to not only survive the coming war, but live in spite of it.

The story will feature a more grown up Harry, but not necessarily a super!Harry or an independent!Harry. I wanted to make this as canon compliant as possible in an AU story. There will be a lot of help and support from all the usual favourites, and the Weasleys will play a large part in Harry's story, but the focus will be on Dumbledore and Harry's relationship. The only ships that will be included will be canon ones but that won't happen immediately and it won't be the focus of the story. They'll be lots of angst and drama before Harry can have a chance to be happy with Ginny. Also, this story is rated 'T' because of the violence and language, not because of sexual situations. I don't think anything of that nature will ever be explicit in this story because: 1) I don't want it to take over the plot, and 2) I also don't think I'd be very good at writing it.

This might start off as a family/friendship fic that focuses on the development of the relationships between characters, but since Voldemort isn't just going to magically disappear you can expect plenty of action and drama as well. There are a lot of clichés (no magical trunk thankfully), but hopefully I've added a new spin on old ideas. I didn't write this because I hated what JK wrote- I actually adore the books! This is simply a different way of doing things.

**Warnings:** Some mentions of physical abuse and general violence. Also the occasional naughty word, since Harry _is _a teenager in this story.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: <strong>Nothing Left

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><p><em>I wake up, it's a bad dream, no one on my side.<em>

_I was fighting but I just feel too tired to be fighting._

_Guess I'm not the fighting kind._

'_**A Bad Dream,' Keane**_

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><p>Heavy rain pounded mercilessly on the window of the smallest bedroom at Number Four Privet Drive, a product of one of the wettest and coldest summers that Britain had seen in recent times. However, even though he was wide awake, the room's current occupant paid no attention to it. At the moment, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the teenager who as a baby defeated the most evil wizard of all time, was lying on his bed staring at the cracks on the ceiling and alternating between rapid periods of extreme anger, followed just as quickly by periods of lethargy so complete that his mind was blank.<p>

On the verge of his sixteenth birthday, Harry Potter was showing all the physical signs of a boy who was leaving childhood behind. He still had a mop of messy black hair on his head but this was now accompanied by a dash of uneven stubble on his chin and above his lip. His frame, which in the past had always been small and slight, was now lanky as though he had recently undergone a growth spurt but had not yet adjusted to it.

However his face, once childlike, no longer held the expression of one who had any of that childlike innocence left. The simple fact was that Harry Potter had seen too much. If you looked closely, beyond the physical attributes, it was clear that Harry Potter had already left childhood far behind. His eyes, green like those of his mother and hidden behind glasses like those of his father, held no laughter and no joy; they were lifeless. At present they were glazed over, caught in a moment of reliving horrific memories that had come to pass but still felt all too real to him.

He saw his parents' last moments, aided by the words he heard every time a Dementor came close to him. "_Lily, it's him! Run, take Harry, I'll hold him off". _His father's last words before Voldemort had mercilessly ripped the life from him. _"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!" _His mother's plea; her final sacrifice, ready to die to protect her child.

Dead.

He saw the graveyard, a location that for many represented a peaceful resting place for their beloved friends and relatives who had since moved on. Not for Harry though. This particular graveyard held only horrific memories; the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus curse, the humiliation of being ridiculed in front of the Death Eaters, the utter powerlessness that he had felt when facing Voldemort with only a disarming spell to protect himself from certain death. But most of all, he saw the deadened eyes of Cedric Diggory, cruelly taken from the world before he had ever really had the chance to live in it. _"Kill the Spare"._ Only fourteen at the time, Harry had survived the horrific ordeal but Cedric, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, had not.

Dead.

Finally he saw the moment that had been plaguing him more than any other this summer. The moment that had been the subject of constant nightmares since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts; the death of Sirius Black, his Godfather. He watched with intense sadness mingled with overwhelming guilt as Sirius fell through the veil in the Department of Mysteries, his face a mixture of surprise and regret.

Dead.

When thinking of this event, Harry's mind was caught between anger, guilt and regret. Anger at himself, at Bellatrix, at Kreacher; even at Sirius himself. His anger was all consuming at times, leaving no room for rationality. He wanted to shout and scream at the world for how unfair it all was. He wanted to get revenge for Sirius; to get retribution. He wanted to hurt those who had hurt Sirius; who had in turn hurt him.

At other times, he could feel nothing other than regret when he thought of his Godfather. After spending twelve unjust years in Azkaban, Sirius had escaped in order to protect Harry and get revenge on Wormtail. When the truth had finally been unearthed, Sirius had rapidly become something that Harry had never had before. He was a mixture between a father and a brother; he was family. Harry had decided, since then, that he could not, and would not, open himself up to that again, for fear that the pain of loss would destroy him.

For years, whilst at the Dursley's, he had had no one to care for him. When he'd left for Hogwarts he had found best friends in Ron and Hermione and a surrogate family in the Weasleys. But they were not _his_ family, not really. Harry had always wanted someone who would care for him and him only, as selfish as that thought was. He had craved his own family, someone who could be there for _him_, and with Sirius he had finally found it. Now that Sirius was gone, the pain of the loss hurt Harry so deeply that he almost wished that he had never entered the Wizarding World at all.

Some would say that 'It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all' but Harry now disagreed. He had experienced far too much in his life for it to ever be as black and white as that. Now Harry found that he almost longed to go back to the lonely days of his childhood before Hogwarts where he had had no one to care for him, and therefore no one to lose. He felt as if he had nothing left, and it hurt all the more because he had once had it. He now knew exactly what it was that he was missing, and had been missing all these years.

The loss of that, above all else, was what now haunted Harry the most.

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><p>"Boy! Get down here!"<p>

The voice of his Uncle crept into Harry's consciousness like an unwelcome guest. He blinked and instinctively hid his turbulent emotions behind a well practiced mask. He could hide his emotions from his relatives if he wanted to, but as much as he tried, he could not prevent himself from feeling them. He hated feeling weak, but at the moment his grief and guilt just wouldn't leave him. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted them to.

"BOY!" his Uncle yelled from downstairs. "If you don't get down here within the next three seconds you will be in serious trouble!"

Harry knew that it was likely that this was an empty threat. The talk that the Order members had had with the Dursleys at Kings Cross seemed to have worked; the Dursleys, and his Uncle in particular, had left him well enough alone.

Up until now, it seemed.

Harry moved off his bed and smoothed out the hand-me-down t-shirt and oversized jeans that he was wearing before slowly making his way downstairs, his emotionless mask firmly in place.

"Yes?" Harry said as he walked into the living room to face his Uncle. Since he knew that his Aunt and cousin weren't in the house, he had expected to find Uncle Vernon alone. However, to his surprise not only did he find his Uncle there but also a face that was instantly more friendly and welcoming to Harry, but that also brought with it an uncomfortable sense of dread.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir..." Harry stuttered, "What are you doing here?"

He realised as soon as the words had left his mouth that this may seem rude to the Professor, but Harry's shock at having a wizard such as Dumbledore in this house had left his brain temporarily stunned into stupidity. From Dumbledore's extremely long white beard, to the lavish purple robes that he wore with dignity, the Hogwarts Headmaster couldn't have looked more out of place in the Dursley's very ordinary, boring, muggle house if he had suddenly spouted wings.

Dumbledore peered at the teenager in front of him over the top of his half moon spectacles and frowned as he took in everything from the huge bruise-like bags under the young man's eyes to the unhealthy white pallor of his skin.

"I am simply here to see how you are holding up, Harry my dear boy," he said kindly, but with his light blue eyes missing their usual twinkle.

At this, Harry's own eyes dropped to the floor. He knew that if he looked Professor Dumbledore in the face then he would not be able to lie to him. Dumbledore would see straight through his mask of indifference and would know that he was almost certainly _not _holding up well. In truth, Harry was barely keeping it together at all. However, he had no intention of letting his Headmaster know that; he didn't want to appear weak in front of the man he had always greatly admired. So instead, Harry lied.

"I'm fine, Sir" Harry replied dully, his gazed firmly fixed on the disgusting patterns on his Aunt's carpet. He didn't want to talk about it. Not with anyone. Before Dumbledore could effectively refute this claim, Harry asked his previous question again, unsatisfied with the answer that Dumbledore had provided.

"Sir, why are you here?" Harry repeated. However even as he had begun speaking, a terrible thought crawled into Harry's mind, something that had been worrying him since the events of the Department of Mysteries.

"Is something wrong, Sir? Is it Voldemort-?" At this, Harry's eyes rapidly rose to meet those of Dumbledore's, but the Headmaster quickly eased his panic.

"Harry, I'm simply here to find out if everything is alright. You seem to have forgotten to write to a member of the Order since you returned home, and I have had so many requests as to your well being that I thought I might pay a visit and see how you're doing for myself." Harry blanched at this, but was saved from making a response when his Uncle spoke.

"As you can see the boy is fine. There'll be no need for any visits from any of your kind," Uncle Vernon interjected quickly, gesturing a meaty hand towards his nephew. It seemed that Uncle Vernon was making an inhuman effort to remain casual and calm in front of the intimidating company, but Harry, well trained to his Uncle's moods, definitely noticed a trace of anger and fear in his voice. Harry supposed that his uncle was still tense over the threat made by Moody and the others when he had been picked up at the train station at the start of the summer. However, Dumbledore paid no attention to the panic that Uncle Vernon was now displaying, nor to the rapidly changing colour of his face. Dumbledore simply raised an eyebrow to him, ignoring him otherwise, as the Headmaster continued to speak once again.

"Harry, it's been four days since term ended, and yet none of the guard have seen you leave the house. Judging by your appearance, I'd go so far as to suggest that you have barely even left your room." Harry's cheeks turned red at this; he had indeed not left his room for the last few days, not even to eat (his aunt had reverted back to using the cat flap on his door), and hygiene had certainly not been foremost on his mind.

"I've been doing homework, Sir. I wanted to get a head start," Harry murmured, hoping that Dumbledore would accept the lie, "In fact I'd like to get back to it now-"

"Harry", Dumbledore gently interrupted, "Forgive me, but I think your homework may wait a moment. We are all worried about you, and I think even Professor Snape would not begrudge you a break from your schoolwork."

Harry just scoffed, not bothering to censor his thoughts on the matter from his Headmaster.

"On second thoughts," conceded Dumbledore with a slight twinkle in his eyes, "perhaps not."

But Harry was in no mood for Dumbledore's games, nor his cheerfulness. He had always greatly respected the Headmaster, and still trusted his judgement despite the mistakes that Dumbledore had made with regards to his life, but Harry's present emotional state left no room for the jovial attitude that Dumbledore so often displayed in order to put someone else at ease. It seemed, however, that Dumbledore was also aware of this, because the twinkle left his eyes and he became serious once more.

"Harry, there is no shame in admitting that you are finding it hard to cope. You not only lost someone close to you, but you were also made aware of a heavy burden-"

"I'm fine, Sir." Harry interrupted almost at once, "I'll remember to write to the Order next time so that no one else's time is wasted. I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble." And without waiting for a response, Harry made a swift exit from the room. He did not want to see the look of worry or disappointment that would surely be found on Professor Dumbledore's face but he just couldn't talk about the Prophecy. Not yet. He didn't even want to think about _that._

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><p>Once he reached the relative safety of his room, Harry heard his Uncle demanding that the Headmaster leave at once, followed by sound of the door slamming. As he was preparing himself for another long night of nightmares, Harry was unpleasantly surprised when his Uncle called him back down.<p>

"BOY! Get down here right now!" The tone in his voice suggested trouble to Harry's well practiced ears.

_What have I done now? _Harry thought, sighing. _All I want is to just be left alone. _

When he re-entered the living room, it was clear to Harry that his Uncle was furious, his face rapidly turning a dangerous shade of purple.

"What was the meaning of that? Why the hell is one of _your_ lot making a visit here?" They aren't welcome here!" His Uncle yelled, his spit spraying over the floor. Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's arm and yanked Harry towards him.

"I forgot to write to let them know I was alright", replied Harry wincing, trying to free himself from his Uncle's painful grip. "It won't happen again!" Harry meant every word as well. He had as much reason to prevent any impromptu visits to Privet Drive as his Uncle had. He didn't want to see or speak to anyone. He wanted to be left alone.

Uncle Vernon, however, didn't seem to be placated. In fact, if anything, he became even more angry.

"You're damn right it won't! I am not having those good-for-nothing freaks coming and going as they please!" Uncle Vernon replied furiously, tightening his grip on his nephew, but Harry, who had more than enough on his mind, was no longer willing to take his Uncle's behaviour without a fight. The emotional state that had filled the last few days had finally taken its toll. He snapped.

"They are not freaks," Harry said fearlessly, trying to rile up his Uncle. "They are ten times the people you will ever be! I've had enough! You hate me, and I hate you, but you will tolerate anything I tell you to, and you will treat me with some respect because I AM THE ONLY THING KEEPING YOU AND YOUR FUCKING FAMILY ALIVE-!

SMACK!

Harry fell heavily to the floor from his Uncle's blow, his face stinging from the contact.

"HOW DARE YOU!" his Uncle roared. "AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE DONE FOR YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL-"

Harry didn't care anymore; he just laughed humourlessly at his uncle, mocking his words.

"GET UP TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT THIS INSTANT BEFORE I KNOCK THE STUFFING OUT OF YOU! AND DON'T YOU DARE EXPECT ANY FOOD TONIGHT-"

But Harry was far too used to threats such as this from his so-called family for it to have any real effect. He just calmly picked himself up from the floor and left the room without even looking back at his Uncle, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. As he made his way back to his bedroom, he picked up a cloth from the bathroom and gingerly applied it to his bleeding lip.

On entering his haven, he made his way to his bed and lay back down on it fully clothed. As he tended to his lip, his anger at his Uncle immediately evaporated and despair filled him once again. The visit from Dumbledore had only succeeded in further reminding Harry of the events of the end of last year, in particular the contents of the Prophecy that the Headmaster had finally revealed to him; '_The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches...'_

But he refused to allow himself to dwell on this, scared that his fear would overtake him and he would lose whatever grip on reality that he had left.

However, now as he stared at the ceiling once again, instead of horrific memories his vision was filled with all the faceless, nameless strangers who would lose their lives if Harry could not do what the Prophecy demanded of him. All those people and families that Harry feared would be lost when he inevitably failed.

Dead.

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><p>AN- Thanks for reading! Reviews would be appreciated, because this is the first time I've ever posted anything here and I really could do with some feedback. More chapters will follow soon, if people want them to...

Coming up... _Chapter 2: Options and Choices_


	2. Options and Choices

**A/N**- Thank you for the very kind response to the last chapter; it meant the world to me! As a reward for all your kind words and enthusiasm, here's another chapter. It's fairly short but quite important for the direction of this story. I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: <strong>Options and Choices

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><p><em>Tell me would you kill to save a life?<em>

_Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?_

'_**Hurricane', 30 Seconds to Mars**_

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><p>Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was worried. As he gazed across the twenty faces of the men and women who made up a large chunk of the current Order, he wondered how many would live to see the end of this war.<p>

They had just gathered at Hogwarts, the new temporary Headquarters, for a simple meeting so that everyone could be kept up to date, but how long before many of these people would have to perform, witness and experience unspeakable acts in order to bring about the defeat of Voldemort; in order to establish peace?

With this train of thought, Albus' mind immediately led him to Harry Potter, the boy who he had come to care about more than any other student; almost like a Grandson. He had already been through so much, had seen too many horrors and at the end of the last school year, Albus had given him a final terrible burden. How could anyone be expected to cope with the information that it was apparently up to them to prevent countless people from suffering? That it was their destiny to defeat the most powerful, and most evil, wizard of all time, whilst they themselves were only a teenager? To kill or be killed...

"-Albus?"

The Headmaster was dragged out of his pensive thoughts by his long time friend and confidant, Professor Minerva McGonagall.

"I apologise Minerva, I was lost in a world of my own for a moment there," replied Dumbledore. "Did you say something?"

She looked at her friend worriedly for a long moment before repeating her previously unheard question.

"I was just wondering how Potter was doing? Alastor had mentioned that you were going to check up on him." She said this in an apparently unconcerned, casual way, but Albus was not convinced. He knew that his friend thought it unprofessional to form or display attachments to the pupils of their school, but he also knew that Harry Potter, like his father before him, held a soft spot in the Transfiguration Professor's heart.

"I fear that he is not doing too well." Dumbledore sighed, his eyes meeting those of McGonagall's in a rare expression of sadness. "He doesn't appear to be sleeping well, if at all, and I'm afraid that he's not receiving the help and support he needs from his relatives."

At this, McGonagall's lips thinned; a result of both her anger and her worry. She had made it quite clear on that particular Halloween night so many years ago what she had thought of the Dursleys, and exactly what type of Muggles they were.

Upon seeing his face, she knew that her friend was not telling her everything, but just as she was about to ask Albus to elaborate on Harry's condition, he addressed the gathered Order members in order to begin the meeting.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's bring this meeting to order. Now before I ask for your individual mission reports I would like to discuss something that was brought to my attention recently." As he said this, his eyes made contact with those of Remus Lupin, whose expression was one of complete worry.

"I am talking, of course, about the situation regarding Harry Potter." From the corner of the room, he saw Severus Snape rolling his eyes, but he paid no notice to it, already suspecting the man's thoughts on the subject.

"A number of you approached me with concerns as to the treatment of young Harry, as well as his emotional state", Dumbledore continued.

At hearing this, the formidable Mrs Weasley spoke up, "Yes Albus. He hadn't sent us a letter to let us know he was alright, and I asked the children and it seems that none of them have received any word from him either. Now, I know it's only been a week since he arrived back, but he usually lets either Ron or Hermione know that he's gotten there safely. All their letters have gone unanswered and it's just not like him! That poor boy's been through so much! He needs support..."

The emotions seemed to become too much for her at this point, and she clung to her husband who was not the only person present who seemed to share her concern. Quite a few people had inquired after Harry, all of them worried about how he was coping after the death of Sirius. Even a number of Harry's teachers had come forward during the last few days of term, expressing concerns over his lack of concentration and listless appearance. Albus, unlike the others, knew that Sirius' death was not the only thing that was likely to be bothering Harry at present.

"How is he, Albus?" interjected the quiet voice of Remus Lupin, the bags under his eyes suggesting that Harry was not the only person struggling with a lack of sleep.

"I'm afraid that young Harry does not seem to be dealing very well with the loss of his Godfather," replied Dumbledore sadly. He did not mention the pressure that the Prophecy would no doubt be adding to Harry's already difficult life; it was not for him to tell, and he felt that at this point he would do anything in order to regain Harry's trust. His greatest fear was that he had lost it forever.

"I have spoken to him," he continued, "and although he is in no immediate danger, I think it would be prudent to make alternative arrangements for this summer in order to give him the support he clearly needs."

"He can stay with us, Albus", proposed Arthur immediately, clearly supported in his decision by his wife, who was nodding vigorously by his side, "We'd be glad to have him. Ron and Ginny, too."

Albus nodded his head. He had expected the offer and if the proper protections could be put in place, Harry could be reasonably safe and well cared for there.

"We must wait at least a few weeks before we move him. Before this would be too dangerous." Many heads nodded in agreement, having been made aware of the nature of the protection surrounding Privet Drive. "Anyway, it will take some time to ensure the protections surrounding the Burrow are strong enough."

He looked around for any objections. Upon finding none, he continued.

"Harry will have to remain where he is for the moment, but I urge you all," Dumbledore scanned the room and made eye contact with each and every member, "to stay alert. He, first and foremost, needs to be safe if we are to help him at all."

From there the meeting continued in its normal fashion, but Albus' thoughts were never far away from Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

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><p>At this point, however, Harry Potter did not want any help. He did not want to talk about how he was feeling. In fact, he didn't want to <em>feel <em>at all.

Harry was once again lying on his bed, in the room that had once belonged to his cousin Dudley. In the days following Professor Dumbledore's visit, things at Privet Drive had begun to escalate. As soon as his Headmaster had left, Harry had heard the key turning in the lock on his door; he found himself locked in his room once again and had only been allowed out to use the bathroom for the rest of that day.

However, whilst this confinement would have once seemed like a punishment, now Harry only saw it as a blessing. He needed to think. And in order to think, he needed to stay clear of the Dursley's and the Order members who were no doubt still patrolling the house. The Dursleys would want him to do mindless chores and the Order members would want to talk to him, get him to discuss his feelings and try to tell him that they understood. But they couldn't understand; no one could.

Harry felt like he was falling, his life as out of control as a wild beast.

_I can't keep living like this, _Harry thought desperately as he continued to stare at the crack on the ceiling above his bed. But even as this thought entered his head, he knew that he couldn't give up; he would not be able take the easy route.

_I have no choice but to keep going, _his mind supplied, _if I don't, people will die. _That was certainly true and the weight of that admission threatened to pull him down. But he would not allow himself to give up if it meant that others would suffer for it.

If it was his destiny to try and defeat Voldemort, then try he would. His problem was that he simply could not see how he could possibly achieve it and survive himself. He knew though, that even if he had to die to do it, he would find a way to finish Voldemort for good.

_But why? _If Harry was completely honest with himself, his reason for wanting Voldemort dead was not just about preventing the destruction he would cause, or even about fulfilling the Prophecy, but also about the pain and death that Voldemort had _already _caused.

In short, Harry Potter also wanted revenge. For his parents, for Cedric, for Sirius. He wanted Voldemort dead, and if he was truthful, he wanted to be the one to do it.

_I want to kill Voldemort._

Upon this realisation, Harry sat up abruptly on his bed. It was, when he thought about it some more, the difference between being dragged into a fight against your wishes and walking into a fight with your head held high. To most there might not seem to be much of a difference at all but Harry, who was looking to gain any kind of grip on his life, clung to the thought as if it were a lifeline.

_I don't have to do this; technically I could run away, I could hide and start a life somewhere else. But I won't because I want to do this. I don't want anyone else to die and I want revenge for those who already have._

Harry found that if he focused on that particular thought he could feel more in control, if not of his own destiny, then at least in control of his own life. He repeated it in his head like a mantra and felt the constriction in his chest lessen slightly; he realised that he could do something. He could train, he could fight. But could he win?

_I have to. I can't just sit back and let others fight and die when it's in my power to stop it, _Harry thought desperately. _I'll start working out some sort of plan tomorrow._

And it was with the focus of this new obsession that Harry felt into yet another fitful sleep.

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><p>The sun was only just rising when Harry awoke the next morning. His sleep had once again been plagued with nightmares, both old and new, but after last night's revelations, instead of fear and despair Harry was filled with a new sense of resolve.<p>

_I have to stop anyone from experiencing what I've experienced, _he promised to himself, as he began to get dressed for the day. If he was lucky, he might be able to eat breakfast before any of the Dursley's came down. For the first time since returning this summer, Harry felt hungry. Actually, due to the fact that he had been practically starving himself recently, he suddenly felt ravenous.

As he quietly made his way downstairs, Harry pondered what he would do today. He had a purpose but now he needed a plan. It was unusual, he thought, to have to come up with a plan without his two best friends. Ron and Hermione had been with him through everything.

_Well, almost everything, _he amended, as he began to make himself breakfast.

It was true that neither had been in the final room facing Voldemort in an effort to try to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Neither of them had been in the final Chamber of Secrets with only a sorting hat and a bird to protect him against a Basilisk. Again, in his third year, neither Ron nor Hermione had been there when he had faced hundreds of Dementors whilst desperately trying to prevent his new found Godfather from losing his soul. And certainly, neither had been present when he had been in the graveyard. There he had been completely alone, forced to rely on luck to escape Voldemort and his followers, but not before being tortured and witnessing a murder.

And neither had been there when Sirius had fallen...

But Harry stopped his morbid thoughts here. Instead, he once again forced himself to focus on the fact that he was going to do everything in his power to prevent these things from ever happening to anyone else.

_And anyway, _conceded Harry, _they certainly were there for some of my best memories._

His mind now focused on a collection of his most treasured moments. From fighting a troll at only eleven years old, to witnessing Hermione actually punch Draco Malfoy in the face, Harry thought about everything that they had experienced together. When his thoughts finally quietened, and he realised that he had been holding the spoon to his mouth for quite a long time without taking a bite, he was struck by a realisation.

_I need them._

And it was true. He would not have been able to cope with his years at Hogwarts had it not been for them. Hell, he probably wouldn't even be alive. For one moment, Harry had considered attempting to cut off ties with them in order to keep them safe. He had even refused to reply to any of their letters in the vain hope that maybe they would want to stop being his friend. He now realised that not only was it futile (they simply would not allow him to do it), but also he just couldn't bear to lose them.

_They really are great friends, _Harry thought, a small smile gracing his features as he put away the dishes. He grabbed his coat and for the first time in the week he had been back at the Dursleys, Harry Potter made his way outside.

* * *

><p>AN- Thanks for reading! I don't have a beta at the moment so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Coming up... _Chapter 3: His Own Council_


	3. His Own Council

**A/N**- Thank you to all those who have favourited, alerted and reviewed this story- it's given me the incentive to keep writing! As Dumbledore would no doubt say if he were real: a kind word can brighten even the darkest of days. However, for now, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**Warnings:** There are some mentions of physical abuse in this chapter. There are also a few swear words as well. Not many, but consider yourselves forewarned.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>: His Own Council

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><p><em>I walk a lonely road,<em>

_The only one that I have ever known._

_Don't know where it goes,_

_But it's home to me and I walk alone._

'_**Boulevard of Broken Dreams', Greenday**_

* * *

><p>Remus Lupin had always been a patient man. He supposed it had a lot to do with his affliction; when you spend one day a month in pain as a creature so unlike your real self, you learn to appreciate the moments where you can just sit as yourself and breathe freely.<p>

Remus' calm head and patient personality had been most utilised in his schooldays at Hogwarts, largely in futile attempts to calm the hot-heads of James, and in particular Sirius. His strict and patient planning had been one of the reasons that they had gotten away with so many pranks without getting expelled. They had made a good team.

At the present moment, Remus Lupin's patience was being tested as he guarded Number Four, Privet Drive. As he looked up at the window that he knew belonged to Harry's room, he thought about the boy who had done so much, and yet had also lost so much. Too much.

This of course brought his thoughts back to Sirius. Remus felt as if he was back where he was almost fifteen years ago; the anger and injustice burned his insides but at the same time he longed to simply curl up in bed and forget about the world outside, forget about everything but his own grief. But at least he had known Sirius, and had years of memories to draw from when he remembered him. Good memories, too.

But what did Harry have? He had only met Sirius for the first time when he was thirteen and for the next couple of years had only been able to spend short amounts of time with the man. They should have had a lifetime together.

It was so unfair! The injustice rose up in Remus once again. Sirius deserved better. He deserved to be free, to have a life. Harry deserved better.

_I'll make sure he gets what he deserves, _promised Remus, _James, I'll make sure._

It was up to him now. He was the last true Marauder, and the last strong link between Harry and his parents. He didn't know if Harry would want to talk to him, would want to let him help, but he knew that he had to try.

But he would wait until Harry was ready to talk; he owed him that much. Remus Lupin had always been a patient man.

* * *

><p>As Harry made his way out of the door, and onto the identical streets of Little Whinging, his mind was still awash with memories. He wandered the streets, much in the way he had done in the previous summer, but this time the uncontrollable anger and feelings of injustice of that summer were gone.<p>

_I was so childish, _Harry thought. _I was naive enough, and arrogant enough, to believe that I needed to be told everything, needed to know everything._

He had thought, at the time, that he deserved to know what was happening, and that he could handle the truth, whatever that turned out to be. He now knew that he was wrong. He hadn't been ready to handle the burden of the Prophecy then.

_I'm not really ready now._

No, Harry knew he wasn't really ready to deal with his destiny, even despite his revelation last night. But as he looked over at the park with the children innocently playing, he made an oath to himself.

_I will be ready._

And with this promise etched firmly on his mind, Harry sat himself on a bench, content to watch the children and their families and wonder about a life that could have been, but never was.

"Harry?"

Harry was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by a voice that he had not expected to hear. He turned around as the man who the voice belonged to sat down on the bench next to him.

"Professor Lupin, Sir," said Harry in surprise, but he also felt slightly apprehensive; would Remus blame him for what happened to Sirius? Harry didn't think he could handle it if he did...

"Harry, are you ok there?" said Lupin worriedly, "You seemed to be in a world of your own."

In reply, Harry just shrugged and said, "I'm fine. How are you?"

Lupin just gave Harry a look that clearly said 'I know full well that you're not even close to being fine, but I'll let it go for now.'

"I'm managing," replied Lupin, sighing deeply, and at this Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. "I would appreciate it though if you would call me Remus, or maybe Moony. I'm not your Professor anymore." Lupin's eyes showed a little regret at this, and Harry simply nodded in acknowledgement of the request.

"I'm sorry, you know," said Harry quietly after a few minutes, "For what happened to Sirius. If I hadn't believed that stupid vision-"

"Harry," cried Lupin almost desperately, "it wasn't your fault! You can't keep blaming yourself. It was Bellatrix Lestrange who killed Sirius, not you!" At this Lupin's face seemed to contort in an expression of anger mingled with pain, but Harry just shrugged again and turned his attention back to the children playing. He didn't want to talk about it. It wouldn't change how he felt.

The two companions sat in silence for a few moments, both too lost in their own thoughts and their own grief. Eventually though, Lupin spoke up.

"Why haven't you been writing to anyone?" he asked, turning his body on the bench so that he was facing Harry once again.

"I've been writing to the Order" Harry replied, shrugging. He had made sure after the visit from Dumbledore that he remembered to write to someone in the Order every three days at least.

"Those aren't letters," responded Lupin. "All you write is 'I'm fine, everything is fine here, H.P.'"

"I _am_ fine," Harry emphasised whilst staring at the ground. "I don't want to talk about it," he continued tonelessly. "There's nothing to talk about."

Lupin seemed about to respond to this but Harry interjected before he could.

"It doesn't matter anyway, does it?" he said despondently, turning his attention back to the park. "No amount of talking can bring Sirius back. Nothing can, so why does it matter if we discuss it? It won't change anything. Sirius will still be dead, and I'll still be alone..." Harry trailed off . Afraid he had said too much, he abruptly got off the bench and turned to face Remus.

"I'm fine, Remus" Harry sighed wearily. "Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself, please?"

And without waiting for a response, Harry began the walk back to Privet Drive, leaving Remus sat on a bench in the park, alone with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

><p>Lupin watched as Harry left but his mind was far from being reassured after their discussion.<p>

_Albus is right, _he thought, _Harry isn't dealing with what happened very well at all. _It almost felt to Lupin as though Harry was trying to cut himself off from him as they were talking. One moment Harry was clearly emotional, on the verge of opening up, and the next moment it was as if a mask had fallen in place, and Lupin doubted if even Dumbledore could see past it to what Harry was thinking.

_He's trying to hide it all, _Lupin realised sadly. _He doesn't want anyone to help._

It was more than that though. As Lupin continued to sit on the bench, he thought back to the brief conversation that they had just had. There was one time that Harry's emotionless mask had slipped: _I'll still be alone..._

Realisation hit Lupin like a high-speed train. He's trying to deal with it alone, because he thinks that he is alone.

_And who can blame him, _thought Lupin. _He's lost James and Lily, and now he's lost the closest thing he had to a replacement for them._

It was no wonder that he was trying to deal with it alone; he didn't want to get close to anyone again, because he didn't want to get hurt again.

_But it's clear that he needs someone. Anyone._

It was obvious as they were looking at the families in the park what Harry craved above all else. He needed someone to love him. He needed someone to be there for _him. _

_I'll be there, James, _Lupin vowed. _Whether Harry accepts me or not, I'll make sure he's never alone. That he doesn't give up on his hopes and dreams._

Lupin had been scared when Harry had told him it didn't matter, because it was clear that Harry thought it was the truth; he honestly believed that his grief wasn't important. The cold resignation in Harry's expression had worried him more than anything else.

* * *

><p>Harry had got back to the house at a little after nine that morning, so he was not surprised to find that his Uncle had already left for work. He had been doing his best to avoid his Uncle recently, knowing that he was close to snapping under the threat that the Order had issued at Kings Cross.<p>

_He's more paranoid than Moody is,_ scoffed Harry, as he made his way up to his bedroom once again. This time however, Harry wasn't going to just lie on his bed and brood. He thought he had done quite enough of that this summer and felt that now was the time for action.

Though his walk had helped organise his thoughts, he had still not had an epiphany as to how he would be able to defeat Voldemort, nor as to what '_the power that the Dark Lord has not' _was. But he knew that there was one way that he could try to find out. After all, _knowledge is power_.

Harry had decided that if he ever going to be able to fight Voldemort, and kill him, he needed to know as much as possible. At the moment he wouldn't even be able to take out a half-decent Death-Eater, let alone one of the most powerful wizards of all time. He had never studied with any great vigour before, but now his attitude had changed.

_I need to be better. I need to know more. It'll be no good if I get myself killed before I have a chance to take out Voldemort!_

And so he read. He studied every textbook he had ever owned, revised every test he had ever taken. He studied incessantly throughout the whole day, taking only bathroom breaks, and not leaving his desk otherwise, not even to stretch.

He even sent Hedwig off with a letter to the Order a few days early, asking them if they could send him any books on defending against the Dark Arts.

During the time spent in his room over the next few days, as he continued to study, Harry had composed a do-do list of sorts, partly so that he would never forget the oaths that he had made and also to collect his thoughts. The list, he found, wasn't very difficult to write at all. In fact, seeing the thoughts in writing made them easier to deal with. All he had to do, he told himself, was remember what was important.

_Things to do:_

_1. Think before I take action_

_2. Listen to others (Hermione)_

These two were vital if he wanted to avoid another situation like there had been at the Ministry only a few weeks ago. If he had just thought it through more, and listened to Hermione, then they would never have gone. He had put all his friends in danger and anyone of them could have been killed. They had been stupid that day and in the end the price for that stupidity had be great...Harry pushed this thought aside. It would do nobody any good for him to dwell on the dead. Not when he had living, breathing people that he could protect.

_3. Learn how to Apparate_

_4. Learn how to duel_

_5. Learn as many useful spells as possible_

_6. Learn Occlumency_

These next four were on the list precisely for practical reasons. After his experiences in the Graveyard, and in the Ministry, he realised that he was simply no match for any fully grown wizard, let alone a Death Eater. He and his friends had been lucky, extremely lucky, to have survived their encounter with them last time. If they hadn't had the Prophecy as leverage, he knew they wouldn't have.

_Never again, _thought Harry, _I must be strong! _What good would he be at fulfilling his destiny if he couldn't even get past the Death Eaters to get to Voldemort?

_7. Restart the D.A._

This addition to the list had been the only difficult choice, but in the end Harry realised that he didn't really have any choice at all. He knew that his friends would all fight; he could never stop them. They had proven that at the end of the term. But this time, Harry was determined to make sure that they had the skills to make it a more level playing field.

This year, however, he did think that it would probably be best to ask permission and make it a more official club; he was sure that Dumbledore would allow it. He also thought about opening it up to more people. The war, Harry figured, was coming whether people wanted it to or not. They had a choice; in the end the only choice may be to fight or to die. Voldemort and his followers were merciless, but the least Harry could do was give as many people as possible a chance to protect themselves and their families.

_8. Avenge the dead_

_9. Kill Voldemort_

These last two were largely dependent on each other, but Harry knew that if he had the chance to avenge Sirius by getting Bellatrix Lestrange, he would take it. If he had a choice he knew he would make sure she could never hurt anyone else, the way she had hurt him.

The final addition to his list, however, was the one he was most anxious about.

_How the hell am I supposed to kill Voldemort, _Harry thought desperately, _when even Dumbledore can't beat him in a duel?_

Instead of finding an answer to this question, Harry returned to his books and his obsessive studying. _There must be something, anything..._

* * *

><p>Harry's days soon became solely focused on him learning as much as possible. He immediately fell into a routine. He would wake up early, usually because of nightmares. Then he would get dressed and go for a walk, so that he could avoid the Dursleys as they started to get up. He'd come back after he knew his Uncle would have left for work and he would spend the rest if the day in his room with his books, only leaving to go to the bathroom. He knew, deep down, that it probably wasn't healthy. However, he figured that he wasn't that hungry anyway, so it didn't matter if he missed the occasional meal. He was also woken most nights by nightmares and could never get back to sleep afterwards anyway, so Harry thought that he may as well do something useful with the time.<p>

It was now a week after his brief talk with Remus, and almost three since he had returned to the Dursleys', and although he felt better now that he was doing something, Harry suffered from the constant anxiety that it wouldn't be enough. This, of course, just made him work even harder, and caused him to push himself even more. It was beginning to take its toll. When studying he forced all his grief and fear away to focus on the task at hand, but although he tried hard not to acknowledge it, there was only so much more he could take before he snapped.

"Boy!"

Harry shut the book he was reading, rubbed his tired eyes, and sighed. He glanced at the clock and saw with surprise that the time was nine o'clock in the evening. He had been reading the Occlumency book that Moody had sent him for five straight hours today, but in truth all he wanted to do was to keep going. He didn't want any interruptions; why couldn't he just be left alone?

"BOY!"

His Uncle sounded mad; furious in fact. _'What could I have possibly done now,' _Harry thought wearily as he made his way downstairs.

Upon entering the living room, Harry was immediately and unceremoniously yanked towards his Uncle confirming his previous thought; his Uncle was furious.

"What do you mean by it, boy!", yelled Uncle Vernon as he shook Harry violently.

However, Harry, who was used to such treatment and had in fact experienced much worse, was no longer frightened by his Uncle's behaviour. He decided then and there that he was no longer going to take it anymore. He was no longer a small, defenceless child. His Uncle couldn't just push him around; he wouldn't let him. He wouldn't be weak.

"What do I mean by what?", said Harry, his voice deceptively calm. He knew that his lack of fear would infuriate his Uncle more than anything else, and at the moment, Harry was feeling very reckless. Harry tried to shrug away from Uncle Vernon's grip but his Uncle just seemed to grip harder.

"We got a letter today!" his Uncle said furiously, his fist gripped in a threatening manner.

"Congratulations", mocked Harry, recklessly, "I didn't know you had friends."

SMACK!

His Uncle backhanded him, but his grip on Harry's arm didn't falter. Harry could almost feel a bruise forming on his cheek, but he refused to give his Uncle the satisfaction of thinking that he had got to him. He kept his face blank as he slowly turned his face back to meet that of his Uncle's.

Harry's lack of reaction seemed to just infuriate his Uncle even more and his grip on Harry's arm was starting to become very painful.

"The letter," continued Uncle Vernon, his anger so great that he was shaking with it, "was not delivered the normal way! IT WAS FROM ONE OF YOUR FREAKS!" At this, Uncle Vernon released his nephew violently, and Harry hit the wall heavily, banging his head hard against it.

Whilst Harry was momentarily dazed, Uncle Vernon continued the tirade.

"The letter was a warning to us!" He bellowed. "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN TELLING THEM! WE'VE FED YOU, GIVEN YOU A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US!"

His Uncle marched over to where Harry was leaning against the wall, and Harry, recognising the danger signs, immediately moved away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, truthfully. He had not once complained to anyone about the Dursleys; he didn't want anyone to come and visit here either.

"This Lupin fellow seemed to think that you weren't very well cared for here!" Uncle Vernon continued, advancing on Harry, who was trapped in the corner of the room with no escape route. "He warned us that if we didn't start treating you better, then we would be in trouble!"

"HE THREATENED MY FAMILY!" Uncle Vernon finally reached Harry, but he did not attempt to grab him. Instead he waited threateningly for Harry's explanation.

Harry, however, simply looked at his Uncle calmly, as if pondering a complex puzzle, deliberately ignoring the unspoken threat in his Uncle's posture.

"I supposed they must have seen me walking around," said Harry coolly. "I've not been very happy recently, and I guess they're just worried."

"SO YOU DID TELL THEM!"

Harry just shrugged, almost hoping to rile his Uncle up even more. Like Dudley last summer, Uncle Vernon was becoming a good way to vent his frustrations.

Unfortunately it seemed to work a little too well, as Uncle Vernon seemed to snap. He grabbed Harry's shirt once again but this time followed it up with a punch to the ribs. As Harry was reeling from the hit, his Uncle reverted back to his favourite way of hurting Harry; his words.

"WHY WOULD ANYONE CARE ABOUT YOU?" His Uncle yelled, as he released Harry from his grip. "YOU'RE JUST A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING FREAK! JUST LIKE YOU'RE PARENTS, AND THAT CRIMINAL GODFATHER OF YOURS AS WELL!"

Holding his ribs tightly, Harry started when his Godfather was mentioned, and his emotions, so close to the surface at the moment, seemed to finally show on his face.

"Why haven't we heard from him, eh?" Harry's Uncle asked, noticing the reaction he had finally earned from Harry. "Has he got sick of you too?" His Uncle laughed, but did not notice his nephew apparently shaking with rage, nor did he notice the shaking ornaments on the fireplace.

"Shut up!" shouted Harry, marching towards his Uncle this time, ignoring the pain in his chest. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about! SHUT UP"

"He must have noticed what a fucking freak you are!" His Uncle yelled. "No wonder he didn't care enough to stick around-"

SMACK!

Time seemed to stop as both Uncle and nephew stared at each other, breathing heavily, both seemingly unsure of what had just happened.

His Uncle slowly brought a hand to his lip. He pulled the hand back, revealing blood on his fingertips.

"You hit me," Uncle Vernon stated. His anger had apparently temporarily left him, replaced by shock.

However, the shock that his Uncle was experiencing was nothing compared to the shock Harry was currently under.

He had never hit his Uncle before. Not even when he had tried to fight back as a child had he ever been able to punch his Uncle back.

'_Shit," _Harry thought, the adrenaline leaving him, finally be replaced by fear. Idly he wondered where his Aunt and Cousin were; there was no way they could have missed this particular argument.

"Get out." His Uncle had appeared to have snapped out of the shock. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE, BOY!"

Panic set in now, as Harry realised he was about to be kicked out. It was in desperation that Harry played his final card.

"If you kick me out then you're putting your family in danger. Voldemort will come and the protections will be gone. He'll kill you all-"

"Shut up you little prick!" Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry once again and began to drag him through the kitchen and towards the back door. Harry tried to break free, but he was no match for the strength of his Uncle's anger.

"Don't try that rot with me!" His Uncle shouted. "I know all about the protections. Petunia explained it to me. As long as you remain on the property, we'll still be safe!"

He pushed Harry out of the back door, and Harry, numb with shock, didn't resist. He was shoved into the garden, where he fell heavily on the wet grass.

"The garden is still our property, so we'll still be safe!" his Uncle continued. As he walked back into the house, he gave Harry one parting shot.

"And don't even think about coming back inside until I say so!"

After a moment of staring blankly at the slammed door, Harry seemed to gather his wits once again. He slowly picked himself up, his mind already rapidly trying to think of a plan. In truth, though, he knew that there was nothing he could do. He would never be allowed back inside the house tonight so that ruled out using Hedwig, and he couldn't get help any other way because that would mean leaving the property. It seemed that he was stuck in the garden for the night. He had his wand, but after last summer, there was no way he could risk using magic.

_Looks like I'm stuck out here._

He walked over to the shed, but upon finding it locked, he growled in frustration.

_So much for the Order's protection,_ Harry thought. _The one time I need their help, and no one is anywhere to be seen._

Desperate to get out of the chilling night time wind, but thankful that it wasn't raining, Harry made his way over to the back door once again.

Instead of trying to open it, however, he simply sat on the step and curled into himself, with his head resting on the door.

As exhausted and drained as he was, Harry knew that he would not get an easy night's sleep, but in spite of this, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his legs in order to minimise the chill, his wand gripped firmly in his hand.

Harry was left to sleep on a doorstep for the second time in his life, cold, hurt and alone.

* * *

><p>AN- I'm loving writing this story at the moment and I'd really like to know if you like it too, so send me a review if you've got time. If not, never mind, and I'll see you next time!

Coming up... _Chapter 4: Realisations and Revelations_


	4. Realisations and Revelations

**A/N- **Hi again! I'm so happy that people seemed to like how Harry acted towards Vernon. I didn't want Harry to seem like a cowering victim, because that just doesn't fit for me, and I'll be honest- I've been waiting for someone to punch that muggle for years!

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: <strong>Realisations and Revelations

* * *

><p><em>Happiness damn near destroys you. <em>

_Breaks your faith to pieces on the floor. _

_So you tell yourself, that's enough for now. _

_Happiness has a violent roar._

'_**Happiness', The Fray**_

* * *

><p>Harry Potter had now been at the Dursleys for almost three weeks, and quite frankly, Minerva McGonagall thought as she stared at the rows of identical houses, she couldn't wait to get him away from there. She had always had reservations about their character, especially after watching them so many years ago now, but they had been reinforced upon seeing Harry's condition when he had first entered Hogwarts as a quiet, polite, thin and yet engaging child.<p>

She doubted that much had changed at Number four in all the years that Harry had lived there. Knowing that Harry had turned out so differently from the family she had watched almost fifteen years ago now, she could only assume that they were not as close as Albus had once hoped they would be.

She doubted that they had ever really been there for him; it would certainly explain his reluctance to ask for help. And how Harry needed someone to take care of him, to help him. She knew he was strong, had known him to face dangers that grown men would tremble under, and he had faced them like a hero. But the truth was that every hero had their breaking point, and she feared, along with Albus and a large chunk of the Order, that Harry had finally reached his.

Each member who undertook guard duty at Privet Drive had reported his listless appearance, the bags under his eyes, his desperate expression. When, after the first few days, no one had seen Harry leave the house, they had known that he was not coping well.

After Albus had spoken to him, it was hoped that maybe he would open up a bit more, and maybe venture out of the house a bit. The fact that he had steadfastly refused to leave a place he so obviously hated was a concern for all of them, not least because they had had no idea how he was coping.

And then one day, he had just decided to go for a walk. No one knew what had brought it on, but they could only hope that he was beginning to realise that he couldn't just shut himself off from the rest of the world.

All their hopes had come crashing down when Remus had reported that he had spoken to Harry and that it was even worse than they all feared. Minerva shivered as she remembered the look of devastation that had passed over her mentor's face when Remus had told them that Harry had appeared to have given up; that Harry no longer seemed to care about anything. She had known that Albus had always cared greatly for Harry, but it wasn't until that moment that she actually realised how deep the bond appeared to go. Albus looked so helpless, and yet so desperate to help at the same time.

_We're all helpless,_ she thought sadly, as she made her way around the wards surrounding the property, checking their strength and preparing to begin her rounds of the area.

The truth was, no one knew what was going on in Harry's head, and unless he chose to open up, they never would. He had always held his secrets close to his chest, and seemed to guard his emotions fiercely, but she could only hope that Harry's friends at least would be able to get past the defences he had put up and help him to deal with everything.

_Because Merlin knows we can't seem to._

Minerva had been devastated when Remus had reported that Harry believed he was alone. If that boy could just realise how many people cared about him, truly cared, then he would never be able to feel alone again.

A lone tear slipped down one cheek but she swiped at it quickly, effectively erasing any sign of its existence. There was no use getting emotional, she told herself. She had a job to do, and if Harry wouldn't let any of them help him through his grief, the least they could do was keep him safe.

It was close to 7 o'clock that morning when she saw him.

* * *

><p>McGonagall had come on guard duty early in the morning, taking over from Mundungus Fletcher who she had found fast asleep when she had arrived. She had berated him for a good ten minutes before letting him leave, but she promised herself that she would have a word with Albus about him. If Death Eaters had attacked last night, then Privet Drive would have been found unguarded.<p>

Fortunately, when she set about checking the area, she couldn't see anything wrong. The wards were intact so it appeared that they had been lucky this time.

That was until she noticed something odd by the door in the back garden, as she continued her rounds of the area. She looked more closely and saw that it was a bundle of clothes; a person was lying uncomfortably against the back door of Number four. She moved closer to the figure, whose face was hidden in his arms, her wand held out protectively in front of her.

It was with a gasp that she realised who the figure was. The messy black hair that he had inherited from his father would be recognisable anywhere. It was Harry Potter.

Through her shock, she moved even closer as if on autopilot, and when she came within touching distance with him she realised that he was shivering slightly.

_How long has he been out here?_

Once again she cursed Mundungus Fletcher for his unprofessionalism and his idiocy; how had he not noticed that the boy they were all on guard to protect was in need of their help? Then, as angry as she was, an unwelcome thought crossed her mind, refusing to shift.

_Did he sleep out here last night?_

She held her breath as the teenager began to shift in his sleep, moaning quietly as he seemed to relive some horror of his past, haunted by his own mind. She had to wake him up, she decided. She could not leave him here like this.

"Potter," she said as she nudged him gently in the shoulder. "Potter, wake up."

He woke with a start, practically jumping up at the sound of her voice and the feel of her touch. In only a few seconds, McGonagall was shocked to find that she was now facing an angry looking Harry Potter, all signs of sleepiness gone, who had his wand firmly pointed at her.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

She looked at him as though he had lost his sanity, unsure what to make of the situation, but the expression in his eyes commanded her to give him an answer.

"Professor McGonagall, Potter, your Head of House."

"Prove it," he said, his stern gaze unfaltering. "What did you do when me, Ron and Hermione told you about the Philosopher's Stone in our first year?"

"I did nothing Potter," she said sadly, the guilt still haunting her to this day. "I dropped my books in shock, but I did nothing. There has not been a day that has gone by where I have not regretted that moment and the way I acted."

Harry just nodded in acknowledgement, but whether it was in acknowledgement of her guilt or his acceptance of her identity, she didn't know. He lowered his wand.

"Sorry, Professor," he said quietly, his gaze lowering to the ground, "I'm often a bit jumpy when I wake up."

"Nightmares?," Minerva asked sympathetically, hoping to get him to open up. If she could just get him talking then maybe she could find out why in Merlin's name he was sleeping on a doorstep.

Harry just shrugged and looked at his watch, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

"I'm going for a walk," he announced, and set off out of the garden at a very brisk pace.

"Potter," she called when he reached the road, and was relieved to see him stop and turn around. "Do you mind if I join you?" she continued hesitantly.

He just shrugged again, and continued at his previous brisk pace onto the streets of Little Whinging that he knew so well.

As she tried to catch up with him, McGonagall took a moment to examine the changes that had occurred in one of her favourite students. He seemed taller now, and although he was still far too skinny, his build was much less scrawny than it had been in recent years. _Thanks to Quidditch, no doubt,_ she thought proudly.

One of the most astounding differences that she saw in Harry was the way he now carried himself. As long as she had known him, she had seen a fairly shy, polite boy but one absolutely bursting with curiosity. It was no accident that he had discovered the secret of the Philosopher's Stone, nor the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. He had always held his head up high, not in an show of arrogance like his father, but rather to satisfy his need to see everything. His green eyes always seemed to be alive, always taking note.

Now, however, his gaze was firmly focused on the ground on which he walked, his shoulders hunched over as if he was trying to fold in on himself. She doubted that he was taking in anything about his surroundings whatsoever, and he seemed so deep in his thoughts that he probably wouldn't have even noticed if Professor Snape had suddenly appeared across the street dressed in Augusta's clothing again.

This was perhaps what worried her most about Harry as she finally reached him, falling into the pace he had set with ease despite her recent hospital stay. He seemed as if nothing interested him anymore. Where once a child had stood, curiosity overflowing from his very spirit, now stood a teenager who looked to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, his mind focused inwards on whatever was haunting him, rather than outwards onto the rest of the world.

"Are you quite alright, Potter?" McGonagall internally winced at the question, but she really had no idea what else to say.

"I'm fine, Professor", Harry replied despondently, his gaze not lifting off the floor as he continued to march across the labyrinth of streets that he knew so well. "How are you? Have you recovered well from the stunning spells?"

His concern seemed genuine and despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help but be proud of the young man in front of her.

"I'm fine, Potter," she replied, "No lasting damage."

They fell into silence once again as they continued to walk at the brisk pace that Harry was setting. Eventually, though, McGonagall had to break the silence.

"Potter, why is it," she began sternly, but her voice betrayed the worry that she was feeling, "that I found you sleeping outside, at seven o'clock this morning?"

She tried to catch his eyes, always finding it easier to catch out a liar if the person in question looked at her directly, but his gaze didn't move from the ground. When Harry didn't answer immediately, she then asked the question that had been bothering her since she had first set eyes on him in the garden this morning.

"How long were you there?"

She hoped beyond all hope that she was mistaken. She hoped, somewhat irrationally, that he had just gotten up especially early to help with some chore in the back garden, and had simply paused to take a brief break from the work, falling asleep by accident. But deep down she knew this wasn't the case.

Her worst fear was confirmed when Harry, after a protracted pause, finally replied.

"I was there all night, Professor." At this revelation, he seemed to pick up the pace, perhaps in an attempt to lose her, but Minerva had no intention of letting this one go that easily.

"And pray tell me, Potter," she said deliberately in an effort to control her anger, "why you were left to sleep in the garden all night?" Her accent was becoming more pronounced as it always did when her emotions were close to the surface.

"My Uncle kicked me out, Professor," he mumbled, his words barely audible. He had always found it hard to lie to his Head of House, and the stern look on her face further compounded that fact now.

Despite how quiet Harry spoke, this answer was given in such a matter-of-fact tone that McGonagall was temporarily shocked into silence, a feat that would have had the Weasley twins staring at her in awe had they been there to witness it. She took a few deep breaths in order to regain her composure before she reacted to this revelation.

Weakly, she replied, "What do you mean by that, Potter? Why on Earth would your Uncle have kicked you out? Has he not taken _any _notice of the warnings we've been giving him-"

"Actually, Professor," Harry murmured, "that was kind of the problem." Prompted by the stern look on his face, he elaborated reluctantly.

"They got a letter from Remus yesterday and it upset my Uncle", he said wearily, but with his face betraying no emotion. "He doesn't like magic, you see, and he seemed to think that he was being threatened." This last part was stated nonchalantly, as if it wasn't important, but McGonagall wasn't fooled.

Before she could think on it further, however, Harry raised his eyes momentarily to take note of his surroundings and check his watch, before abruptly changing direction, heading back the way they had already walked. McGonagall was about to question him some more when Harry started speaking again, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

"We got into a fight about it. He yelled at me. I yelled back. He brought up Sirius, and I kind of lost it." His face looked momentarily pained at the mention of his Godfather, but the emotion was gone before McGonagall could fully register it. "That's when he kicked me out."

Again McGonagall looked as if she was about to say something, but it appeared that Harry had still not yet finished.

"It doesn't really matter though. My Uncle knew the wards stretched into the garden, so I was never in any real danger." At hearing this, though, McGonagall finally seemed to snap out of her state of shock.

"I assure you, Mr Potter, that it most certainly does matter." Sensing that the teen was about to protest, she continued.

"You may have been safe from Voldemort and his followers last night, but that does not give your Uncle any right to treat you that way." She looked at him sternly, imploring him to understand the meaning of the words.

On seeing no visible reaction, she said, "Harry, your happiness is important as well." Harry finally stopped walking and turned to face her, but instead of seeing the Harry she knew, it was if a different teenager had taken his place; his was expression cold, his eyes angry.

"My happiness has never been important before; why should it matter now?" he asked her bitterly, but without any real malice in his voice. He seemed to be more resigned than anything else.

"This isn't exactly the first time anything like this has ever happened before, and no one cared then," he continued. "Why should anyone care now?" The soft tone of his voice suggested that this question was aimed more at himself than at her but he gave her no time to consider it.

He simply jumped over the gate leading up to Number Four, Privet Drive and walked up to the front door. He turned around for a second to face McGonagall, giving her a slight nod before he entered the house, closing the door quietly behind himself.

It wasn't until later that the true extent of Harry's words hit her. Harry was one of the most kind and forgiving people she had ever met, so what could the Dursleys have possibly done that instilled so much anger and bitterness in him?

_Whatever the answer is_, McGonagall thought grimly, _it's clear that there's more going on at Number Four than we know._

However, despite these thoughts, the thing that had struck Professor McGonagall the most was the look in Harry's eyes just before he entered the house. There was no happiness and no hope there. There wasn't even anger. All she could see when her eyes had met his green ones, was complete resignation. Remus was right; it was as if he had given up trying to be happy.

It was unfortunate that his eyes had held her attention, because in all her worry, Professor McGonagall hadn't noticed the still visible, albeit very faint, bruise that, had she looked, she would have found on Harry's cheek, only partially covered by his unruly hair.

* * *

><p>As Harry crossed the threshold to Number Four, he sighed in relief. His Professor hadn't noticed the bruise that he was certain was still visible on his cheek; she would questioned him about it if she had. He had made a special effort to keep her attention away from his face; it was actually one of the reasons that he had taken off on a walk so quickly after being woken up. Well, that and he wanted to stay away from Privet Drive until he was sure his Uncle had left for work. He held a hand to his cheek and pressed gently, finding the area slightly less tender than it had been last night.<p>

Harry had always healed quickly, especially if he slept on the injury. He had never known if it was natural, or some form of accidental magic, but he had always been grateful for it. However, he was pulled abruptly out of any further thoughts on the matter when he heard his Aunt's shrill yell.

"Boy!" she cried. "Where the hell have you been? We've been worried sick!"

Harry, who had been about to make a quick exit from the room, was shocked into silence by this revelation;_ they were worried about me?_ However, his Aunt soon restored the natural order of things when she called out to his Uncle, who was apparently searching the garden.

"Vernon! It's alright!" she cried, "The boy's right here! We're safe!"

_That makes more sense, _Harry thought, but he couldn't stop the feeling of bitterness that his Aunt's actions had caused. _Of course they weren't worried about me. They were only worried about the wards and their own safety!_

"How dare you run off like that!" his Aunt spat, "You selfish, ungrateful-"

But Harry had no interest in hearing what else his Aunt truly thought of him, and he certainly did not want to wait for his Uncle to join them. He had heard it all before, and he would no doubt hear it all again, but for now all Harry wanted was a long, hot shower. With this in mind, he studiously ignored his Aunt's ranting, and calmly made his way upstairs.

After successfully taking a shower without being disturbed, Harry made his way to the relative safety of his room. Almost immediately after shutting the door, he heard a rumbling up the stairs, and though he prepared himself for another fight, he was not at all surprised when all he heard was the lock clicking from the outside. He was locked in again, but after last night Harry was simply thankful that his Uncle had not murdered him on the spot. He had no doubt that, had he not been crucial to their ongoing safety, his Uncle probably would have.

It was with these morbid thoughts parading around his mind that Harry picked up a textbook from his desk and began to read again, continuing with his obsessive studying once more. At least here he could avoid the incessant questions of Lupin and McGonagall. He didn't want anyone to worry about him. There was nothing to worry about, he told himself over and over again.

_All I want, _Harry reasoned, as he stared at the words on the page without taking anything in, _is to be left alone._

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><p>AN- Thanks for reading! If you've got time, any chance of a review? I'd love to know what people thought of this!

Coming up..._ Chapter 5: Regrets_


	5. Regrets

**A/N**- Thanks for your continued/new support for this story- it makes me extremely giddy!

Also, I realise these chapters are coming out fairly quickly at the moment (and I'm sure no one's complaining) but don't expect that to last forever. At the moment I have got the story planned, but I've only written a few more chapters than I've already posted, so there will be longer waits for chapters soon. I'll do my best, but sadly I'm only human. I thought it would be fair to warn you though, so people knew I wasn't giving up on this. I've got far too much good stuff planned for this story for me to stop now. If you thought Vernon getting punched was good, I assure you it's just the beginning.

Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's short, but to make up for it, the next chapter is much longer and I'll post that soon as well. Happy reading!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong> Regrets

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><p><em>Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away,<em>

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay,_

_Oh, I believe in yesterday._

_Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,_

_There's a shadow hanging over me,_

_Oh, yesterday came suddenly._

'_**Yesterday', The Beatles**_

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><p>McGonagall paused outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and calm down her breathing. She had rushed straight to Hogwarts after she had been relieved of the guard duty, intent upon talking to Albus about the situation with Harry immediately. After what she had witnessed that morning, she was desperate to get him out of that house as soon as possible.<p>

_What kind of family forces their grieving nephew to sleep in the garden?_

McGonagall had been horrified by the treatment that Harry seemed to endure from the Dursleys, but what frightened her the most, and what had her almost running to Albus' office, was the fact that Harry seemed used to it.

_This isn't exactly the first time anything like this has ever happened before, _he had said.

Had they all missed it? Had the Dursleys always treated him this horribly, without any of them being any the wiser? Had they really all been that stupid? Guilt clawed at her insides but she forced herself to calm down.

'_It might not be as bad as it looks,' _she tried to convince herself as she said the password to Dumbledore's office. She made her way up the stairs, replacing what she hoped was her usual stoic expression back onto her face. Now was not the time to panic. She just hoped that Albus would know what to do.

* * *

><p>Instead of knowing what to do, however, Albus Dumbledore felt conflicted and helpless. He had never had as little confidence in his decisions than he did at this point in his life. As McGonagall thought through her own interaction with Harry, so too did Dumbledore.<p>

_Remus is right, _he thought sadly, _Harry won't talk about what's bothering him. He's trying to shut us all out._

At this moment, as he sat in the large ornate chair behind the desk, absent-mindedly stroking Fawkes, Albus Dumbledore looked every single one of his hundred and fifty years. He had spent so much of his life trying to be the leader of the light, but sometimes the pressure that came hand in hand with the position became simply too much.

To have all those people depending on your decisions was almost unbearable at times. The intense pressure of knowing that if one mistake was made, if just one plan failed, then the cost would probably be fatal. It was worse, in a way, that so many of the Order thought that he was unbeatable, that he was infallible. He knew that he wasn't; the mistakes he had made with Harry were a prime example of that. Sometimes it was hard to live up to the high expectations of those who depended on him, when he was only human, and certainly capable of making mistakes.

But then, if he didn't do it who else would be able to step up and take his place? It was a burden that Albus gladly undertook, if only because he wouldn't want anyone else to have to struggle with it.

_It will be Harry's turn soon though. I won't be alive forever and people will look to him when I'm gone, _Dumbledore thought with no small amount of sadness.

It was true, even despite the fact that Harry was still only a teenager. Not only had he accomplished more than even his parents had in the fight against Voldemort, he had done it, and continued to do it, with a humbleness and modesty that automatically attracted people to him.

Dumbledore doubted if even Harry knew how much power he held over others, but if one looked closely enough it was impossible to fail to notice his leadership qualities. It was not just Ron and Hermione that would follow him into battle.

It wasn't simply his 'Boy who lived' status, or the 'Chosen one' idea either; it was the fact that Harry would never give up no matter what happened and no matter how much he got hurt in the process. He would give up his life in order to save the life of another, even if it was for someone he didn't like. He would sacrifice himself in order to do the right thing.

Albus felt intensely saddened by the fact that a teenager could ever understand this, but at the same time he couldn't help but admire the boy. He had been through so much and yet still he never gave up; Albus knew that Harry would fight to the very end, even if he was currently grieving. He epitomised the very thing that they were all fighting for; hope.

Sometimes Dumbledore wondered how Tom Riddle could continue to underestimate Harry. In a way, they had all been guilty of that.

* * *

><p>When she had finally entered his office, Professor Minerva McGonagall had been fully prepared to yell at Dumbledore in order to make him finally see sense. She had even mentally prepared a few scathing comebacks to his inevitable explanations as to why Harry could not be moved yet no matter what the circumstances.<p>

She was surprised, therefore, when she walked through the door and saw her friend and mentor sat at his desk, his shoulders hunched over and his head in his hands. He looked defeated and all thoughts of an argument flew quickly from McGonagall's mind.

"Is everything alright, Albus?" she asked him anxiously, and upon hearing her voice, Dumbledore raised his head and attempted a weak smile before replying.

"I don't think everything has been alright for a while now," he told her sadly. "So much is wrong, and I'm not sure I know how to fix it. I don't even know if it can be fixed." He looked up at her almost pleadingly and she took a seat in one of the chairs opposite the desk before she responded to him.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Potter, would it Albus?" She asked gently. She knew, without him having to tell her, that Albus' mind had been thinking of little else except Harry since he had visited him at Privet Drive.

"I've made so many mistakes," he said almost desperately. "Harry's life is but one of them."

"What do you mean, Albus?" asked McGonagall. _Surely he didn't mean Harry's life at the Dursleys'? If he had known, surely he would have done something? _Her fears vanished, however, when he began to answer.

"I failed him last year, Minerva," replied Dumbledore sadly. "I ignored him in a vain attempt to protect him, but it only made things worse in the end. I doubt Harry will ever be able to forgive me."

"Harry is a remarkable young man," said McGonagall, taken aback by the resignation and sadness in Dumbledore's voice, "and he has an amazing gift for forgiveness. Some would call it weakness, but I myself have no doubt that it refers to an inner strength beyond any that we ourselves possess. He will forgive you, Albus, in time."

"I hope so, Minerva," Dumbledore replied sincerely. "I just wish that there was some way that I could help him now. Some way in which I could relieve part of his burden."

Dumbledore looked up and the expression of desperation on his faced shocked Minerva.

"When I visited him," Dumbledore continued, "I looked into his eyes, and you cannot imagine the pain I saw in them. I fear that he's close to giving up. So much pain-"

"Albus," interrupted McGonagall gently, "there's something I need to tell you. It's about Potter." She was suddenly anxious. Whereas before she had been looking to chastise Albus for his part in Harry's life at the Dursleys, now she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had been angry, not just at the Dursley's, but at Albus as well for leaving Harry there in the first place; she had told him when he had first left Harry on that doorstep that it was a mistake, and she had fully intended to make him see the full results of it. Now, having seen the guilt that the man had already heaped upon himself, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

_For Harry, _she decided. _No matter how much this hurts Albus, I have to do this for Harry. He has to be moved!_

"What is it, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked worriedly. "Have you spoken to Harry?"

"I have," replied McGonagall, steeling herself to say the words that needed to be spoken.

"Albus, he must be moved _now_," she continued, urging her voice to remain calm. "He cannot stay in that _house _any longer." Dumbledore looked at her intently, all signs of depression gone.

"But the blood wards-"

"The blood wards will not protect him from his relatives, Albus!" she interrupted, her anger at the situation getting the better of her.

"What do you mean, Minerva?" asked Dumbledore calmly, although his clenched hands betrayed his emotions. "Has Harry said something?"

"No Albus," she replied angrily, although her anger was directed at the Dursleys rather than her friend, "I found Potter this morning. He was asleep in the garden! Apparently his Uncle had kicked him out _again_, and he'd had to spend all night outside! And they knew!" Her voice had raised to a high pitch by the end of her account, her anger at the situation momentarily causing her to lose control.

"He can't stay there anymore, Albus! The blood wards aren't worth this! We can keep him safe! I'll stay by his side for the rest of his life if I have to, but he can't stay there!"

If she had ever truly thought that Dumbledore had known how badly Harry was treated at the Dursleys', any such thoughts were gone now. The look of shock, anger and devastation on his face was something she would likely never forget.

"They don't care about him," she continued, her anger at the Dursleys forcing her to use all her self control not to just curse them into oblivion. "Albus, he needs someone who cares."

"I never knew..." Dumbledore whispered desperately, his face a picture of devastation. "I always knew he wasn't completely content there, but I never knew it was this bad..."

His voice trailed off, and Minerva felt her heart break when she saw the years that had been added to her friend in a matter of seconds.

"I'll get him myself," Dumbledore said, as he gathered his strength once again. His guilt was threatening to overwhelm him, but he had failed Harry too many times before; he would not fail him again. "I'll bring him to Hogwarts this afternoon. We'll work out what needs to be done then."

On seeing McGonagall's slightly worried face, Albus moved to allay what he suspected she was worrying about.

"Don't worry, Minerva," his anger at the Dursley's finally starting to seep past his shock and guilt, "I won't harm them."

"They _will_ pay for this though," he continued, and from the hardness in his voice, McGonagall had no doubt of that.

* * *

><p>AN- Thanks for reading! As always, feedback would be much appreciated.

Coming up... _Chapter 6: The Only Option_


	6. The Only Option

**A/N-** Hi everyone! I wasn't actually going to update today, but your reviews completely made my day! The response I'm getting to this fic is beyond any expectation I had, and I thank each and every one of you. Enjoy!

**Warnings:** There are some mentions of physical abuse in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: <strong>The Only Option

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><p><em>Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.<em>

_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go._

_So make the best of this test, and don't ask why._

_It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time._

'_**Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)', Greenday **_

* * *

><p>As he walked up to the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive, his purple robes rippling in the light afternoon wind, Professor Albus Dumbledore could not help but feel a sense of apprehension that momentarily overtook his anger.<p>

That wasn't to say that he wasn't still overwhelmingly furious over what had been revealed regarding the Dursleys' treatment of Harry, but even righteous anger did little to assuage the guilt he felt. He had been the one to leave Harry; it was his fault and his fault alone.

At the time it had felt like the only option, but now he finally knew what a grave mistake it had been. His intentions, as good as they had been at the time, did not justify the fact that he had unknowingly condemned an innocent boy, newly orphaned, to what it now seemed had been fourteen very difficult years. It was a mistake that appeared to have cost Harry Potter his childhood.

And what an easy mistake it had been to make. The war had only just been won, and many Death Eaters were still at large, some even more dangerous than before Voldemort's downfall because they had had nothing left to lose. Albus had still been in the wartime frame of mind, where all he could think of was in terms of casualties and survivors. When looking at Harry Potter's situation, he had only wanted to prevent another casualty. It was with this in mind that that he had placed all his, and Harry's, hopes in the blood wards that he had been able to establish at the Dursley residence.

That Harry may have not been happy there, sadly did not cross his mind at the time, nor had it crossed his mind much since. The boy was safe from Voldemort and his followers there, and that was all that seemed to matter then.

But even though he had placed enormous faith and effort in the blood wards, he had not been able to simply force the boy onto the Dursleys; his conscience would not allow him to do so. When he had left Harry on the doorstep all those years ago, without meeting the Dursleys himself, it had been to ensure that they would not refuse him so easily, the importance of the blood wards already influencing his decisions even at this early stage. He had, however, left the Dursleys with a way out, should they decide that they simply could not take the boy; he had left instructions on the letter young Harry had been found with, detailing how to contact him if the burden did indeed prove too great. He would work out alternative arrangements then, if it became necessary.

Albus had hoped, however, that in leaving Petunia with Harry, a bond of sorts would develop between them and she would not feel the need or desire to send him back. When he heard no word from her in the following years, Albus had assumed that such a bond had been created and so he did not check on Harry, thinking that it would only disturb a happy, loving family. It was a grave mistake, an old man's mistake. It was this assumption that was turning into one of the greatest regrets of the esteemed Headmaster's long life.

He had never checked up on Harry. He had never made certain his belief that Petunia and her family had cared for Harry, nor that Harry was happy with them. His failure to do an action that now seemed so obvious, so simple, had cost a young boy his childhood.

And Albus was certain about that. He didn't believe, as perhaps Minerva seemed to have hoped, that this had been an isolated incident. He had heard enough over the years to know that Harry's home life was less than perfect. Had Hagrid not mentioned the fact that he had found Harry sleeping on the floor when he had taken Harry his letter? Even Hagrid, so unwilling to see the worst in people, had expressed concerns over Harry's life there, and yet he, Albus, had dismissed them.

Albus had been reluctant even then to send Harry back, but he had convinced himself that the blood wards were too important. Harry's fight for the Philosopher's Stone at the end of his first year had proven that. His mother's protection had saved his life, and ultimately justified Dumbledore's decision to leave Harry at his Aunt's, essentially eradicating all his reservations about it. The protection was worth it, he had convinced himself.

Over the next few years, it was this justification that allowed Dumbledore to dismiss the other warning signs that came from Harry's life at the Dursleys'. Had Molly and Arthur Weasley not told him that Harry had needed 'rescuing' by their sons in the summer after his first year? He had been reported as being extremely thin and malnourished after that particular stay at Privet Drive. Had he not run away after the incident with his Aunt Marge, the summer after his second year? Was it simply in anger that Harry had run away from home, or had it been fear as well?

Only last summer, had Albus not been forced to intervene when it appeared that Vernon was about the kick the boy out? He remembered what Minerva had heard Harry say: _It's not the first time something like this has happened._

Did Harry matter so little to them?

_How did no one see this before? _Dumbledore thought, the guilt almost overwhelming. His only comfort (and how little comfort it was) was that no one else had seen this either. _What else have we all missed?_

But, Dumbledore justified desperately, Harry had, intentionally or not, made the signs very easy to miss. He really was a remarkable child, and had turned into a remarkable young man. Albus had always known that the Dursleys' own child, Dudley, had been treated more favourably that Harry; Arabella had told him that much. She had never been able to get as close to the Dursleys as he would have liked, but what she had seen was enough. Harry had been neglected, almost from the moment he had been left on the doorstep that Halloween night.

But Albus, having been a teacher for most of his life, had seen many cases of child neglect, or even abuse, and Harry simply did not act like he would have expected a child like that to act. He had convinced himself, therefore, that Arabella must be exaggerating; that it can't have been that bad, if Harry himself seemed fine. Happy even. No one, by looking at the person he had been, and had become, could have guessed what Harry's home life had been. He was quiet, yes, but he was also confident. He did not shy away from those in charge, quite the opposite in fact; instead he stood up to them if it became necessary. He was always polite, and he had grown into a mature and respectful young man.

But even as he thought this, he saw the symptoms that he should have seen all those years ago. What could have been seen as independence and initiative now looked more and more like a distinct lack of trust in adults. In almost all the dangerous situations he had been in, he had never asked a teacher for help; was this because he had been taught at an early age not to expect help from those in charge of his welfare?

What was once seen as bravery in life-threatening situations was now more recognisable as a lack of regard for his own life. Had it been drilled into him that his life didn't matter? Albus was tormented by such thoughts now. Harry had always been secretive, had held his thoughts and feelings close to his chest. Dumbledore doubted if even Harry's friends knew the true extent of his life at the Dursleys' any more than the rest of them did.

_It's no excuse!, _thought Dumbledore angrily. Harry, because of his importance to the Wizarding World, and to many of the individuals in it, had been closely watched._ How could none of us notice?_

His anger at the Dursleys did a good job of burying the guilt he felt, but he knew, as he rang the doorbell to Number Four, that he had to control his emotions or he may end up blowing Petunia up, as Harry had blown up his Aunt Marge a few years ago.

But as he heard the heavy footsteps come closer to the door, apprehension filled him Dumbledore once again.

_Just how bad was it?_

Albus Dumbledore didn't know the answer to that question, and that scared the leader of the light more than anything else.

* * *

><p>When the door opened, he was not met by Vernon Dursley, as Dumbledore had perhaps expected. It was not Harry either, although the vast teenager before him appeared to be a similar age.<p>

"You must be Dudley?" Dumbledore asked kindly. He may have been furious with Dursley senior but he would never have taken his anger out on an innocent child, especially one who seemed so frightened.

Dudley, however, didn't answer. He simply stared at Dumbledore's appearance, his eyes widening as he noticed the robes that the Headmaster was wearing.

"What d-do you w-want? Dudley asked, his fear at the obvious wizard in front of him overriding his usual bravado.

"I wonder, are either of your parents in?" Dumbledore asked, although he rather hoped that the answer was no. When he moved Harry, he couldn't afford any complications and he was afraid that if he saw either Vernon or Petunia, he would not be able to control his anger or his magic.

Dudley shook his head uncertainly, his fear increasing as he realised that there was no one to protect him from the strange man at the door.

"That's excellent. Now, I'd like to speak to Harry please?" Dumbledore continued.

"What's Potter done now?" Dudley said, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to.

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"Erm...well, Dad was furious with him last night," replied Dudley much more nervously now that he had remembered who it was who was in his company. "Has he done something to get into trouble with your lot as well?"

Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow at this and frowned, the words simply confirming what he already knew.

"He isn't in any trouble. Where can I find Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore requested calmly, although his anxiousness had returned yet again.

"Erm...he's upstairs in my..._his_ room, I think. He d-doesn't leave it much," Dudley stuttered as he moved out of the way of the door. It seemed that he had no intention of being alone in the house with a wizard; Dudley grabbed a coat and practically ran out of the door, moving faster than he ever had in his life and leaving Dumbledore alone in the hallway.

The Headmaster slowly made him way upstairs, noticing that the pictures on the walls held no sign that Harry had ever lived there. His apprehension grew as he came to the landing and noticed a door that appeared have numerous bolts attached to the outside. There also, oddly it seemed to Dumbledore, to be a cat flap on the door; he was almost certain that the Dursley's didn't have a pet. Fear began to grip him, as he was drawn to the door. Dumbledore had no doubt that if they were cruel enough to lock Harry out of the house, they may lock him in as well.

Gathering his courage, and trying to push his guilt aside, Albus raised a hand and knocked on the door.

* * *

><p>Whilst Dumbledore and McGonagall had been discussing Harry's treatment at the Dursley's, Harry had been experiencing it first-hand.<p>

When he had first returned to his relative's home after his night in the garden, Harry had had been reasonably happy to only find himself locked in his room once again; in his experience, it could have been much worse. His relief at escaping punishment hadn't lasted very long, however, and any hopes he had had that his Uncle would forget the incident the night before were soon dashed as he heard the lock on his door turn. He had only been locked in his room for one hour, so Harry was apprehensive at the freedom being offered now. He stood up, his body alert as the door swung open to reveal his irate uncle.

"You bloody little prick!" his Uncle yelled, making a move straight for Harry, who was stood motionless by his desk. As reckless as he had been feeling lately, even Harry had the sense to stay quiet at the moment.

"I told you to stay in the garden!" he continued, grabbing Harry by the shirt and following his words with a backhand which threatened to knock Harry over.

Harry stood his ground, however, and despite his swollen lip and newly bruised cheek, attempted to defend himself.

"I _did,_" Harry replied coldly, raising a hand to his throbbing mouth. "One of my teachers saw me this morning, so I didn't have much choice but to move." He glared up at his uncle, but then deciding that it would be much more satisfying to torment him, and feeling that he was in the mood to be reckless after all, he suddenly smirked.

"Of course, I think she knew what was going on," Harry said casually as his Uncle loosened his grip in shock. Harry used the brief advantage and pulled himself free, straightening his clothes before continuing.

"She might even have mentioned it to Dumbledore," Harry continued. He knew that he was playing a dangerous game, but he just couldn't find it in himself to be too bothered by it.

"He could be on his way here right now," Harry said calmly, although he didn't really believe this. He doubted that Professor McGonagall had really guessed what was going on; she can't have thought it was serious, Harry thought, or she wouldn't have let him return.

"If I was you," Harry said, thoroughly enjoying the look of fear that now to be found on his Uncle's face, "I'd go to work now. I wouldn't want to be here if someone did come to check up on me now, would you?" He smirked at his Uncle again, and in a final show of petulance, he looked pointedly at his watch.

Uncle Vernon growled dangerously, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the panic that he was clearly showing. Harry, unthreatened by his Uncle by this point, stood his ground and was relieved when his Uncle turned and left his room, without locking the door and without a second glance at his nephew.

Harry let out a sigh, and sat down at his desk. It had been amusing to torment his Uncle and watch him panic, but now that he was gone Harry had nothing to distract him from his depressing thoughts. Quickly, he grabbed a book from his desk and began to read, hoping to find a distraction in his studies. Soon however, the uncomfortable night that he had spent in the garden began to catch up with him, and Harry's eyes became unfocused as his eyelids began to droop.

_I'll just close my eyes for a second_, he thought, eager for some relief from the exhaustion.

However, in less than a minute Harry Potter was fast asleep at his desk, his head lying on an uncomfortable cushion of open school books.

* * *

><p>Upon hearing no movement inside the room after he had knocked on the door, Dumbledore turned the handle. He found that, despite all the bolts on the outside, the door itself was unlocked and so he pushed it gently open and moved quietly inside.<p>

The sight that greeted him would add yet another ten years to his appearance. The tiny locked room clearly belonged to Harry. There was an white owl sitting quietly in a cage in the corner and there were a number of Gryffindor and Quidditch posters on the walls. A huge school trunk sat in one corner by what looked like a very uncomfortable bed, and at the desk was Harry himself, fast asleep in his own arms.

_That can't be comfortable, _Dumbledore mused sadly as he took in his surroundings, registering all the broken toys piled into one corner before eventually focusing his gaze on the figure sitting at the rickety desk.

Dumbledore walked quietly over to the desk, intending to wake Harry up by giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder, but he paused for a moment when he noticed the piles of books and notes that surrounded the sleeping form.

Poking out, on the top of a particularly large pile, was a rough piece of parchment entitled '_Things to do'._ Intrigued, Dumbledore carefully extracted the piece of parchment, making sure that Harry remained asleep, and took a closer look at the writing. What he read saddened him more than anything else could have.

_It's as if he's decided to fight the war on his own. Why can't he ask for help?_

Did he not expect any? As Dumbledore read through the list, he marvelled at the thought that Harry had obviously put into writing this, but he also noted how little Harry seemed to have thought about himself. Everything that had been included on the list at been on behalf of others. Even the inclusion of the training (Apparition, Occlumency etc) was no doubt as a reaction to discovering his destiny, not in an effort to better himself, or even as a way of protecting himself. Harry seemed only focused on the war, and winning it. Living through the war hadn't even made it onto the list.

Now, more than ever, Dumbledore realised the true consequences of his past actions and the grave mistakes he had made. He had been so worried about Harry's role in the war that it had overridden his concerns for Harry's happiness. He had allowed safety to come before everything else, and in doing so had inadvertently taught Harry the same thing; that his only role in life was in the destruction of Voldemort. That living his life how _he _wanted was no longer important. He should have been there to help Harry understand that he could not give up on life; that he should not have to.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently. It was time to change things. He would no longer allow Harry to think that he had to deal with things alone. Whether Harry forgave him or not, Albus was going to do everything in his power to help the boy that he had come to care about a great deal.

"Harry, wake up." Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder as he continued to try and wake Harry, and was eventually rewarded with a moan and a movement that suggested that Harry was beginning to stir.

Harry slowly pulled his head off his arms and raised a hand to his neck in order to massage the pain he had gained from the uncomfortable position.

"Professor?" Harry asked, still bleary eyed from sleep, as he noticed the unexpected presence in his room.

Dumbledore, however didn't answer. He was staring at Harry's face, his horrified eyes moving from the bruise that was clearly visible on the boy's cheek to his swollen lip.

Harry, realising what Dumbledore must have noticed quickly turned away and started unnecessarily sorting out the mess on his desk.

"Harry, look at me," Dumbledore's voice was sterner than Harry had ever heard it, but he was more shocked by the amount of sadness he could detect there as well. He slowly turned to face his Professor, realising that he couldn't hide any longer, and was startled when he saw Dumbledore shaking with fury.

"Who did this to you?" The question was simple enough, but Harry wasn't sure that he wanted to answer. Yes, his Uncle Vernon had hurt him, but honestly it could have been worse, he told himself.

"It's nothing, Professor," Harry replied quietly, his eyes fixed firmly onto the floor. "I just got into a fight." It was a lie, he knew, but he had no intention of talking about it.

_It doesn't matter anyway,_ Harry convinced himself.

"Harry..." Dumbledore said desperately, obviously not believing the lie, but Harry remained undeterred.

"It's nothing," Harry insisted. "It was just a fight. Nothing to worry about."

When it became clear that Harry was going to say nothing more on the subject at the moment, Dumbledore attempted to reign in his suspicions as to the true story behind the injuries, and focus on the real reason that he was here. He could talk to Harry about it later, they _would _talk about it later, but now he needed to move him safely to Hogwarts.

"It's time that you left the Dursley's, Harry," Dumbledore continued, even more resolved in his decision since seeing Harry's physical condition. "It's been decided that you'd benefit more from spending the rest of the holidays elsewhere."

Dumbledore watched carefully as a number of emotions crossed Harry's face. At first he saw elation, and he felt guilt overwhelm him once again as he realised that no child should feel so happy at leaving their childhood home; Harry looked as if he was a prisoner who had been offered an escape. The second emotion that Dumbledore saw wasn't clear at first. It took him a moment to realise that Harry's expression of happiness was warring with a sense of dread.

_Surely he didn't think that we'd take him back to Grimauld place?_

"I'm here to escort you to Hogwarts," Dumbledore clarified and his suspicions were confirmed when relief crossed Harry's face. This was replaced, however, by an expression of concern and, not for the first time, Dumbledore wondered what was going on in the teenager's head.

"Who else will be there, Sir?" Harry asked, and Dumbledore was suddenly made aware of why Harry was asking.

_He wants to know who he's putting in danger._

Despair filled Dumbledore once again, and he fought to control his anger at Harry's lot in life. No one should have to think about the danger that others were put in when deciding where to live for the holidays.

"There will be quite a few Order members around at all times, and a few teachers have decided to spend their summer at school rather than return to their homes. Hogwarts has become the new Headquarters so I assure you, it will be well protected."

Harry looked to be considering that for a moment, but Dumbledore was relieved when he nodded his head in acknowledgement and began to gather up his belongings.

"Let me help you," Dumbledore said as he raised his wand and began waving it in a complicated movement. Harry's belongings began to organise themselves into neat piles, and Harry's trunk opened magically to allow the objects, clothing and books to be packed efficiently. It only took a few moments, and before long Harry's room was as bare as it had been on the day he had first been given it, the only sign of its previous use being the endless toys piled up in one corner.

"Shall we leave then, my boy?" asked Dumbledore expecting that to be all, but was surprised to see Harry lying on the floor trying to reach something under his bed. Bending over with some difficulty, Dumbledore saw that Harry had removed one of the floorboards and was currently taking out what Albus suspected were his most treasured possessions. Sadness filled him once again. _No child should feel they have to hide things from their guardians._

When Harry finally stood up and added his final belongings to the trunk, he turned back to Dumbledore to await his next instructions. Dumbledore, noticing how quiet Harry had been, decided that it would be best to leave immediately. He wasn't sure if he could control his anger should the Dursleys make an appearance, especially if his suspicions about Harry's injuries were even close to the truth.

"Are you ready?" At Harry's nod, Dumbledore pulled out a phoenix shaped model from his pocket. Tapping it once, he activated the Portkey and held it out for Harry to touch, ignoring the look of apprehension that flitted across Harry's face.

"It will activate in approximately three seconds."

Harry put one finger to it, and seconds later found himself being dragged out of his room, arriving abruptly in an ungraceful heap outside the gates to Hogwarts. Picking himself up, he silently began to walk up the path that led to the entrance, doing his best to ignore the worried gaze that he knew would be on him. Despite the awkward conversations that he knew would soon follow, Harry couldn't help but smile when he reached the giant doors of Hogwarts.

_I'm finally home, _he thought, feeling happier than he had in weeks.

* * *

><p>AN- Thanks for reading! If you've got time, I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter.

Coming up... _Chapter 7: Questions without Answers_


	7. Questions without Answers

****A/N-**** Thank you for all your reviews, alerts and favourites- it makes me feel like I'm doing something right!

Harry's finally at Hogwarts but will he accept the help we all know he needs? Hope you enjoy this chapter- it's the longest one yet!

****Disclaimer: ****Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: <strong>Questions without Answers

* * *

><p><em>Don't let your mind get weary and confused,<em>

_Your will be still, don't try,_

_Don't let your heart get heavy child,_

_Inside you there's a strength that lies._

'_**Be here now', Ray Lamontagne **_

* * *

><p>"Harry, please take a seat," Dumbledore said. "Would you like a sherbet lemon?"<p>

Harry sat down in one the ornate chairs opposite Dumbledore's desk, and looked up reluctantly as the Headmaster held out his hand, offering the sweets. In answer, though, Harry simply shook his head. Since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry had barely spoken a word. In fact, in the walk up to Dumbledore's office, Harry hadn't even made eye contact with the Professor, choosing instead to keep his focus on the floor on which he walked.

It wasn't that he was angry with Dumbledore for removing him from the Dursleys without any warning. In fact, if anything, he was relieved at being moved to Hogwarts, even when he took into account the danger his presence would bring. As much as he had wanted to be alone at the moment, his Uncle's escalating behaviour had actually begun to worry him. The threat of retribution would not have remained effective for much longer, and Harry was quite thankful now to be beyond his reach. He also realised that, although Dumbledore had mentioned that a few Order members would be around, he was still confident that within the vast castle walls he would be able to find the isolation and peace he required.

In reality, the reason that Harry was pretty much refusing to speak to Dumbledore, unless he was directly addressed, was because he really didn't think there was anything left to say. He knew that Dumbledore would want to know how he got the bruise on his face. It had been quite clear to Harry that Dumbledore had not believed his story about getting into a fight for one moment, but he still found that he didn't want to tell the Headmaster the truth. He knew that his Uncle's behaviour had been wrong, but he'd gotten somewhat used to it over the years, even to the point where he had begun to fight back. He really didn't see the point in talking about it either, especially since he was now at Hogwarts. It wasn't as big a deal now as it had been when he had only been a small boy. He certainly wasn't defenceless anymore; he had fought Voldemort, giant spiders, trolls, dragons and had even slain a basilisk, so he could certainly handle one fat Uncle.

_Anyway, _thought Harry, s_urely it's better to be completely safe from Voldemort, even if the price is the odd bruise. I'd get worse treatment if I was captured by Death Eaters than I ever would from my uncle._

Harry somehow knew that Dumbledore wouldn't see it like that, but the truth was that in this case Harry believed that his safety, and the safety of others, _was _more important than his happiness. He had never been happy with the Dursleys but he would choose their treatment over Voldemort's hospitality any day.

Harry's thoughts on this were interrupted abruptly when there was a knock on the door. Dumbledore, who must have been expecting the visitor, simply called for them to enter, his concerned gaze never leaving Harry's face.

The door opened, revealing a worried looking Professor McGonagall. As she walked across the room to take a seat next to Harry, she seemed to take a few calming deep breaths, and for some reason this worried Harry. It was clear that she was trying to control herself, but he couldn't quite work out what would cause the usually unflappable Head of Gryffindor to lose control of her emotions in the first place.

The two teachers seemed to share a look that Harry couldn't quite recognise before McGonagall turned to look at Harry for the first time, her eyes immediately fixing onto the bruise on his cheek.

"Mr Potter!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"

Harry brought a hand to his cheek, gently pushing on the tender area before he answered.

"I got into a fight, Professor," Harry replied calmly, although he still wouldn't meet anyone's gaze. "It was stupid really, but no real harm done."

McGonagall still seemed in shock at the appearance of the injuries on Harry, but even then she did not look as if she believed the lie. She simply turned to Dumbledore with what appeared to be desperation, a plea for information written all over her face.

Dumbledore, however, was still looking at Harry. He seemed to take a deep breath before speaking, as though his very thoughts were causing him great pain.

"Harry, we know that you weren't in a fight," he said gently, although it was taking an great amount of effort to reign in his anger at the person he suspected of causing the injuries. "We have a guard following you, whenever you leave the house, and there have been no reports of any incidents."

"They must have missed it," Harry replied stubbornly, although his resolve was wavering slightly. In truth, he wasn't quite sure why he was refusing to talk about his Uncle's treatment of him. He knew that what his Uncle had done had been wrong, and that he probably should have told someone about it years ago really. However, he honestly didn't think it would have made much of a difference; not then, and certainly not now. He was safe at Privet Drive, no matter how badly he was treated there, and he could handle the odd smack if it meant that he would live through the summer.

"Harry, why didn't you ever tell anyone how you were treated at the Dursleys?" Dumbledore asked him gently and yet firmly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor-" Harry answered despondently.

"Mr Potter," interrupted McGonagall, her control over her emotions fading slightly. "We know that your Uncle forced you to sleep outside last night. Why didn't you send for a member of the Order? We could have helped you."

"Hedwig was locked in my room, and leaving the property at night seemed too dangerous," Harry replied almost angrily. "And where was the guard, anyway! If there had been someone there, then I might've asked for help, but there was no one!"

At some point during this speech, Harry had risen to his feet, but now, as the anger deflated in him, he sat back down again, embarrassed by the loss of control over his anger, his eyes immediately moving to avoid looking at either of his Professors.

McGonagall looked as if she was about to say something, but Dumbledore swiftly interrupted.

"It seems, my dear boy, that we have failed you once again," he said sadly.

Harry seemed about to close in on himself at hearing this but, for the first time since his abrupt return to Hogwarts, he looked up at Dumbledore and saw his mentor's devastation for himself. He really didn't want to hurt the old man anymore, but he simply refused to talk about the Dursleys with anyone. Even when Hermione or Ron brought it up in conversation, he would just end up making a stupid joke about Dudley and then quickly changing the subject. He _had _to be strong from now on. He wouldn't, he _couldn't, _show any weakness. Admitting to his Uncle's treatment was a weakness that Harry simply didn't think he could afford.

If he was to play a major role in this war, as he now knew he must, then he needed the support and faith of others. He knew that he couldn't do this alone, not in the end, and if they thought that he couldn't handle it, then he was sure that he would lose their respect. He could not, _would not, _allow that. His determination and resolve showed in his more upright stance as he turned back towards his Professors.

"I'm fine, Professors, really," Harry said and seeing that Professor McGonagall was about to protest, he moved to change the subject. "Actually, I was wondering where I would be staying? I'm a bit tired and I thought I'd try and have a nap before dinner, if that's alright?"

Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry's determination in avoiding the issue of the Dursleys, but it was clear from his expression that the matter would not be dropped for indefinitely. The headmaster took a long, hard look at his pupil, before seeming to come to a decision to let it go for now.

"It's been decided, Harry," Dumbledore replied, as he looked over the top of his glasses, "that you will be staying in Gryffindor tower. A number of the Order are already in residence there, including Remus Lupin. You'll have the sixth year boys' dormitory to yourself, of course."

Harry nodded, although he was not too happy about living with other Order members. He had wanted to be left alone, and he doubted if he would get any peace with so many others sleeping so near to him. He was sure, however, that if he was careful, it wouldn't be too difficult to avoid them.

Harry stood up and moved to the door, eager to leave in order to avoid further questioning and be alone with his thoughts, but something stopped him before he left.

Turning back to the Professors, he looked specifically towards Professor Dumbledore before he began to speak once again.

"I'm sorry, Sir" he said quietly, "for my behaviour in here at the end of last term. I let my grief for Sirius turn into anger at you, and I shouldn't have." Harry's face looked momentarily pained at the reminder of Sirius, but he carried on regardless. "Can you forgive me, Professor?" He looked hopefully at the Professor, and was surprised to find that Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

"Only if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Harry?" Dumbledore replied. "My mistakes have been much worse than anything you did that night."

Ignoring McGonagall's confusion at the entire exchange, Harry nodded in acceptance.

"Thank you, my dear boy," Dumbledore said sincerely, "although I am not entirely sure that I will ever deserve your generosity." Harry blushed a little at this, but remained stoic otherwise. He had meant it when he had decided to forgive Professor Dumbledore; if anyone deserved forgiveness, it was this man, and Harry had no trouble in giving it to him. Everything he had done, even his mistakes, had been in an attempt to keep people safe. Harry couldn't fault him for that.

"We will be dining in the Great Hall tonight at six." Dumbledore continued, apparently having pulled himself together again. "There will be quite a few Order members eating with us since there is a meeting tonight, and I would appreciate it if you could attend the meal as well."

Harry didn't really want to see anyone else at the moment, but there was something in Dumbledore's tone of voice that suggested that it wasn't really a request, but an order.

So contrary to his feelings on the matter, Harry nodded to both Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, and turned back towards the door before walking out without another word, missing the concerned look which passed between his Professors. When Harry reached the bottom of the staircase, he gathered his trunk, which had been left outside Dumbledore's office during their talk, and slowly made his way towards Gryffindor tower.

His previous exhaustion was returning to him now and it was beginning to take its toll on his movements. Thankfully he didn't meet anyone as he walked through the corridors, nor when he finally entered the common room. He trudged up the stairs to the boys dormitory where he would be sleeping, and upon entering his room, dumped his trunk in a corner and collapsed fully clothed on the nearest bed, his whirring thoughts unable to prevent him from falling straight into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>"I am going to KILL Vernon Dursley!"<p>

Professor McGonagall had barely waited until the door had closed behind Harry before she began to vent her feelings.

"Minerva..." began Dumbledore, although his pale face betrayed his own fury.

"No, Albus!" she cried. "You saw that bruise, and you know as well as I do that Harry was lying about that fight! That filthy muggle! If he was the one to hit Harry, then I swear I will curse him so thoroughly that he will look more like a slug than he ever did a human!"

"We do not know exactly what transpired," Albus replied, although it was clear that he didn't believe his own words. He had known as soon as he had set eyes on the injury that it had to have occurred _inside_ Number four. There was no way that any of the guard would have failed to report a fight, not even the unreliable Mundungus Fletcher.

"Well, Harry certainly didn't get it in a fight," McGonagall said bitterly, her temper waning slightly as her worry increased. "Why would Harry lie though? Does he honestly think that we wouldn't want to know if his Uncle has been hitting him? It's as if he thinks that it doesn't matter."

She looked up at her friend in desperation but what she saw in his eyes simply confirmed her worst fears.

"He does think that doesn't he?" she said, dejectedly.

"I'm not sure," replied Dumbledore sadly, "but I think that Harry has spent far too long putting others before himself."

"You think he's protecting the fat muggle?" Minerva asked incredulously, misunderstanding Dumbledore's words.

"No, I think he believes that the safety of others is more important than his own." Dumbledore said dejectedly. "I fear that Harry lied to us about his injury so that we would still think the Dursley home was a suitable safe house for Harry. He has accepted Hogwarts for now, but I think that he feels sure that as long as he remains here, he is putting us all in danger."

"But that's ridiculous!" cried McGonagall.

"Not to Harry," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head sadly. "He has been in far too many situations where that has been precisely the case."

McGonagall looked to interrupt here, but Dumbledore stalled her for the moment.

"Give him time, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "I won't force him to talk about it yet, but I _will_ get to the bottom of it. I just hope that we can show him that his happiness and well being are important as well."

Dumbledore stood and McGonagall took this as a signal that her friend needed some space to think things through.

As she walked towards the door, she had one final thing to say; "Harry is strong, Albus, but he can't deal with everything on his own."

"I don't intend him to, Minerva."

And as she looked back at her mentor, she knew that he was as worried about the teenager as she was. She also saw the determination in his eyes. They had failed that boy far too many times, but they could not, _would not, _fail him again.

* * *

><p>Harry woke from his slumber slowly and found with surprise that he had been asleep for three hours at least. It felt to him as if it had only been ten minutes, his exhaustion still an ever present condition. His head was pounding as well. He thought it might be his scar, but the pain seemed to be everywhere and felt different to the usual sharp pain that signified an intrusion from Voldemort. This was more like a constant dull throbbing that went all the way from his eyes to his hair line. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had forgotten what it felt like to actually be well rested, and it seemed that even returning to Hogwarts wasn't going to give him any relief.<p>

_At least I didn't have any nightmares, _Harry thought, although he suspected that was a combination of his exhaustion and the fact that he had only been asleep for a few hours. He had no doubt that his nightmares would return that night. Maybe he'd ask Professor Dumbledore if he could have some dreamless sleep potion...

Harry swung his legs off the bed and made his way towards the bathroom. After taking care of his needs, he looked in the mirror, his hand moving towards his cheek as he inspected the damage.

_It doesn't look too bad now,_ he thought, as he pressed a finger gently to the injured skin. His unruly hair mostly covered the very faint blemish, and he didn't think anyone would notice it now unless they knew it was there. Another night's sleep and he suspected that it would have disappeared completely.

As he made his way back into the dormitory, his head still pounding, he moved to unpack his belongings. As he was reaching for his trunk, however, his scar suddenly flared with pain, and he struggled not to cry out as he dropped to the floor. Pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead, he rode the wave of pain. However, it seemed that as soon as it had come, the sharp pain left again, and Harry picked himself up, his hand still clamped tightly to his forehead. Whilst he had been at the Dursleys' he hadn't felt so much as a prickle from his scar, but whatever the reason for it this time, he knew instinctively that it wasn't anything good. He hadn't experienced any visions, luckily, although he wasn't sure if that was because there had been nothing to see, or because Voldemort had not wanted him to see it.

Following the attack, unsurprisingly, his headache had gotten worse. He had been in worse pain before, however, and he could handle it now, although he did make a mental note to tell Professor Dumbledore about it at some point. More importantly, perhaps, the flare of his scar had reminded him of the importance of protecting his mind, so he made his way over to his trunk once again. This time, however, Harry simply pulled out the book on Occlumency and lay back on his bed. He had about an hour before he was expected in the Great Hall, and he was determined to make the most of it.

* * *

><p>It was as Harry was trying to clear his mind of all emotion for what seemed like the millionth time, that he finally remembered to look at the time. He was startled when he found that it was already half past six.<p>

_Shit! _Harry thought as he threw the book down and frantically tried to find something more suitable to wear than Dudley's old hand-me-down. _Dumbledore's probably about to send a search party for me!_

Once he was changed into something that actually fit him, he charged down the stairs, through the common room, and out of the portrait. He ran through the corridors, using every short cut he knew, and soon he arrived at the doors to the Great Hall, albeit quite a lot later than he had been asked to be. In his hurry he had forgotten about his previous apprehension with having to see the Order, but it came back in full force now. Gathering up his Gryffindor courage, he took a deep breath and opened the doors. Keeping his head down, Harry took another deep, calming breath and walked through.

As he made his way across the Hall, he lifted his head briefly and noticed that instead of all the House tables, everyone was sat around one big table, much like they had for his first Christmas at Hogwarts. As he took in the faces of the people present, he found that he recognised nearly all of them as members of the Order, although a few of his teachers were there as well. And of course, they were all staring at him.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry mumbled, as he took the only available chair left, which happened to be the one between Professor McGonagall and Remus. Harry wondered if they'd planned it that way so that they could interrogate him some more. Harry had every intention of disappointing them, if that was the case.

"Don't mind us, Potter," sneered Professor Snape, who looked even more sour than usual. Harry suspected that it was because the Professor was seeing his most hated student a lot earlier than he'd like.

"Obviously meeting a simple request is too much for the Golden boy-"

"Severus," Dumbledore warned sternly, but Harry honestly couldn't care less. He wasn't even really angry at Snape anymore. He still hated the man, but anyone who still held a childhood grudge against a dead man was to be pitied rather than acknowledged. Harry studiously ignored him as he sat down, much like he had done at the Dursleys' for the majority of this holiday so far; throughout his life, he had had plenty of practice dealing with people who hated him. Before he had always seemed to rise to Snape's bait, and would always seem to lose his temper, but not anymore. Harry had grown up, even if Snape hadn't.

"Have you all already eaten?" Harry asked quietly, still trying to avoid the worried gazes of the Order members who were present, as well as some of his teachers. He noticed, with some relief, that Bill was the only Weasley eating here though. It wasn't that he didn't want to see the elder Weasleys but he knew that they'd only fuss over him; well, Mrs Weasley would anyway. He really didn't need someone to coddle him at the moment.

"Actually Harry, my boy, we were just about to order our food, so you have come at an excellent time," Dumbledore said jovially. His tone was cheery, but Harry seemed to detect a note of worry in it as well. Harry nodded, and watched with some curiosity as Dumbledore scanned the menu in front of him, before calling out in a clear, loud voice;

"Lasagne." Almost as soon as the word was spoken, a plate of steaming hot lasagne appeared in front of the Headmaster.

Getting the idea, Harry looked at his own menu before deciding on a steak with a jacket potato. When the meal appeared, his stomach started to rumble, and upon smelling the delicious food, Harry realised that he was ravenous; he hadn't eaten anything in over a day, though, so he supposed that wasn't entirely surprising. He immediately dug in, using the excuse of eating to avoid speaking to anyone with more than a one word answer. His rapid eating drew worried looks from those around him, but he was too busy satisfying his hunger to notice.

Throughout the meal there was a continuous hum of light conversation, but Harry didn't take part. A number of times, Remus or McGonagall tried to draw him into a conversation, but each time he managed to deflect the subject so that they would talk about something else, instead of forcing him to speak. When the plates were finally emptied and had disappeared as easily as they had appeared, Harry finally spoke but it was aimed at Professor Dumbledore, rather than McGonagall or Remus.

"Professor," Harry said, "I have a question." At these words the table became almost silent, as if in anticipation of something that Harry didn't quite understand. Maybe they were expecting him to question them about Voldemort, Harry thought. He would, at some point, but his thirst for immediate, unlimited answers had died with Sirius. In truth, he trusted Dumbledore to tell him what he needed to know, when he needed to know it.

"What is it, Harry, my boy?" asked Dumbledore, and all eyes seemed to move to the Professor as if already trying to decide how much the Headmaster should tell him.

"I was wondering," Harry continued, "can I practice magic here without the Ministry detecting it?" Harry noticed a few surprised faces at the question, but he tried to ignore them as he looked back at Dumbledore. This was an extremely important question, in Harry's opinion, and the answer could well decide how effective his studying was. If he could do magic, his summer just became a great deal more useful.

Dumbledore looked pleased at the question, although some, particularly Professor Snape, looked on with trepidation at the fact that Harry would be able to find out the answer.

"Actually, the nature of the wards surrounding Hogwarts makes it impossible for the Ministry to detect magic here at all, let alone underage magic," Dumbledore replied, the twinkle back in his eyes. He peered over his half moon spectacles and looked at Harry before continuing;

"I trust that you will use this knowledge wisely?"

Harry just nodded in reply, his mind already making plans for his studying. Maybe he could use the Room of Requirement...

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when he noticed that people had begun standing up, preparing to leave.

"Um, I did have one other question, Sir," Harry said calmly, although he was slightly apprehensive as to how his request would be taken. His headache was still bad but he suspected that it was about to get worse. He knew some people wouldn't like what he was about to ask, but he really didn't think he had any other choice. Harry noticed that everyone had stopped moving to listen to what he had to say, and he resigned himself to what he knew would likely turn into an argument.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore said kindly.

"I want to attend the Order meeting tonight," he declared, displaying a confidence he did not completely feel. As he had predicted, uproar followed his statement, although not from everybody. He noticed that Remus and Tonks were surprisingly silent, and Moody and Kingsley were giving him odd appraising looks. Snape, however, was furious.

"How arrogant of the _great _Saint Potter to think that we would want you there," Snape spat, his disgust clearly etched on his features.

"Actually, Professor Snape, I wasn't asking _your _permission," Harry replied coolly, ignoring the bitter Potions master, and keeping his gaze on Dumbledore. The older wizard actually seemed to be intently considering the request.

"Can I ask why you want to attend the meeting, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Harry thought for a moment, formulating his answer in his head as best he could before he answered.

"I'm going to be involved in this war, whether anyone likes it or not," Harry began to reply, ignoring the indignation that he saw on his Head of House's face. He suspected that she most certainly did _not _like that particular fact.

"Voldemort has attacked me five times already, and to be honest, I think trying to kill me is a hobby of his," continued Harry, not acknowledging the shock and surprise on many of the faces present, as well as the flinches that many had been unable to suppress upon hearing the Dark Wizard's name. Apparently they did not know about all his Hogwarts 'adventures'. _Maybe that ought to change, _Harry thought.

"He's not likely to leave me alone any time soon, is he Professor?" He directed this to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded in reluctant acceptance, obviously recognising the reference to the Prophecy. Harry noticed that the others at the table simply looked on in curiosity and confusion which made him think that perhaps they didn't know the full contents of the Prophecy. For some reason, this made him feel oddly relieved; he already trusted his mentor with his life, but maybe he could trust him with his secrets as well.

"Well that means that I will have to face him again, probably sooner rather than later." Harry said, shrugging as if that information was merely a formality and not something to be feared. "If that's the case, then I'd rather go into the battle knowing as much as possible as opposed to working with only odd titbits of information that have been gathered second hand."

"Mr Potter," interjected McGonagall, "the Order is only for witches and wizards who are of age. You're simply too young."

"Why?" Harry asked her simply. The bluntness of the question seemed to surprise her, and it appeared that she was unable form an answer to it.

"Well, is it because of my youthful lack of experience?" He asked the group bitterly, although his attitude was aimed at the situation, rather than them. "Because I've faced Voldemort five times since I found out I was a wizard. I've fought Acromantulas, dragons, a basilisk, a troll, hundreds of Dementors, and a group of very pissed off mermaids, to name but a few. I've been attacked, tortured, and almost killed more times than I care to remember, and can I just ask; how many of you have actually duelled Voldemort and escaped?"

At seeing that no one was in any state to answer (most were still in a state of shock at Harry's outburst), Harry began to speak once again.

"Perhaps it's because you think I deserve more of a childhood? Maybe you mean to protect my 'innocence'?" Harry said this last part in a tone so full of bitterness that many flinched in surprise.

"Or maybe you just want me to be a normal teenager?" Harry continued, and he laughed humorously at the idea. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I never had much of a childhood to begin with, even before Hogwarts. Since then, well... if you had any idea the sorts of things I had seen and done in my so-called _childhood,_ let's just say you'd wouldn't want them repeated. And I've never been normal; not in the muggle world, nor the Wizarding one. Nothing will ever change that."

He glanced across to Dumbledore and gave him a weak smile to reassure his professor that he was alright, and that the forgiveness still stood.

"Look," Harry said, in order to anticipate the objections he still expected to come, "I'm not asking to actually become a full member of the Order."

There were a few surprised expressions at this, and Harry suspected that this had been exactly what a number of them had thought Harry was asking. However, in truth, Harry didn't want to join the Order; not yet, at least. He _was_ going to fight, and to do that he'd need help, but he knew that any real contribution that he made to their war effort was not going to be for a while yet, not in an active sense anyway. He was still at school, and he still had a lot to learn, as well as a lot to teach the D.A.

"I just want to be allowed to attend the meetings, so that I can be more informed. I need to know what Voldemort and the Death Eaters are up to, and I need to know what's being done to stop them."

Upon seeing the conflicting emotions on many of the faces present, Harry stood up and prepared to leave the Great Hall.

"Can you at least think about it, please," He asked Dumbledore, before turning his gaze onto the rest of the Order.

"You should know, though, that thanks to the stupid connection that I have with Voldemort, it's likely that I know him better than anyone else. I know how he works, how he thinks, why he does the things he does. I _can_ help, if you'll let me. If you don't...well, I'll probably find out everything anyway – I always have done in the past – and when I do, I may not look to any of _you _for help."

"Oh, your arrogance astounds me Potter!" Snape scoffed, apparently having come out of his state of shock. "What makes you think that you can find out what happens in the meetings without attending them? Do you honestly think that you could find out anything, if we didn't allow you to?"

Harry simply smirked at Snape, not allowing his frustration at the bitter man's narrow-mindedness to sink through into his expression.

"I know a lot more than people think. I seem to have a habit of finding out things I shouldn't," He said calmly, still smirking at Snape.

"What –" Snape began angrily, but Harry interrupted him.

"The Slytherin Common room is hidden behind a wall in the cellars," Harry told a stunned audience. "You speak a password to the wall to enter it and then a passage is revealed that leads to the common room."

Harry smiled sweetly at the man, enjoying the chance to get one up on the Professor who had made potion lessons hell.

"Inside, there is a low-ceiling." Harry continued calmly, ignoring the looks of disbelief that adorned many of the faces present. "It looks a bit like a dungeon and there are greenish lamps and chairs. I assume that it extends partway under the lake because the light in the room has a weird green tinge to it. There are also a lot of low backed black and dark green leather sofas in the room." Harry smiled mockingly at Snape, who was fast becoming an excellent substitute for winding up his Uncle.

"They aren't very comfortable in my opinion," Harry added somewhat needlessly.

"How the hell did you find that out?" spluttered an outraged Snape.

Well, I'm hardly likely to tell you that now, am I Professor?" Harry replied sweetly, although his frustration at the conversation had finally become too much. "I think I've made my point though."

In one last effort, he ignored the irate Potions master and turned to Dumbledore once more as he came to a decision.

"I _can_ handle it, Sir. You know better than anyone what I've been through. Maybe it's time the Order knew some of it too? You have my permission to tell them about the graveyard. I'm guessing they only know the basics at the moment. Or you could show them, if you think it would help you to make a decision?"

He looked back towards the rest of the Order, all of whom seemed to be hanging on his every word. Even Snape was shocked to the point that he had forgotten to keep his usual sneer in place, his face taking on a oddly neutral expression instead.

"I'm no longer a child that needs your protection," Harry finished quietly, his argument almost spent. "I have no innocence left to protect."

And with that, Harry turned and walked out of the Hall, unaware of the shocked silence he was leaving behind, his mind already on other, more pressing matters. He hadn't been planning on sharing his experience of the graveyard, but at least he could rest in the knowledge that they would only be seeing his account through Dumbledore's eyes, not the actual experience itself. There was no use worrying about it, Harry decided; they would make a choice to accept him or not, and there wasn't anything else he could do to affect their decision now. Now he had to decide what his plan was going to be for the rest of the summer, since he was now finally in a position to actually use magic, rather than being simply restricted to reading about it.

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><p>AN- So was this alright? Thanks for reading!

Coming up..._ Chapter 8: A Child No More_


	8. A Child No More

**A/N- **Thank you so much to everyone who's following this story! I'd probably write it anyway, but having people enjoy it makes the whole experience much more worthwhile. Anyway, I'm not completely sure about this chapter myself, but I hope you like it! The next update might be a bit longer, but please be patient. Happy reading!

****Disclaimer: ****Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them. This chapter also contains some text taken directly out of _Harry Potter and the __Goblet of Fire. _That, of course, belongs to J.K. Rowling as well.

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: <strong>A Child No More

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><p><em>To be hurt,<em>

_To feel lost,_

_To be left out in the dark,_

_To be kicked, when you're down,_

_To feel like you've been pushed around,_

_To be on the edge of breaking down,_

_And no one's there to save you._

_No, you don't know what it's like._

_Welcome to my life._

'_**Welcome to my life', Simple Plan**_

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><p>For quite a few minutes after Harry's abrupt exit from the dinner, no one spoke. Those who had been about to leave before Harry's speech, now found themselves rooted to the spot. Every single person who had witnessed the outburst was shocked by the manner in which Harry had addressed them. It was as if a completely different teenager had come to the dinner, instead of the Harry they all thought they knew. The change in him was startling, and not just in his appearance. Gone was the angry, misunderstood teenager of last year and in his place had stood every bit the man that Harry was proclaiming himself to be.<p>

After a protracted pause, the silence was eventually broken by Professor Snape, his indignation at Harry's request finally overriding his shock at the way he had been spoken to.

"How dare he? The insolent brat! Just like his father! Always thinking the rules don't apply to him – "

"Severus," Dumbledore warned, "I believe this is something that we should properly consider."

"You don't mean to say that you think he should be allowed at the meetings, Albus?" asked McGonagall carefully.

"Professor," injected Bill Weasley, apparently on the same wavelength as Professor McGonagall, "no matter how much he's changed, Harry's still just a kid." Bill had been disturbed by Harry's admission of fighting all manner of beast and man, and although he couldn't ignore how mature Harry was compared to others his age, the overprotective older brother in him screamed that Harry was still only fifteen, in the same year as his youngest brother.

"Is he a child though?" asked Dumbledore. "I, for one, certainly thought that some of Harry's arguments had merit."

"What do you mean," McGonagall asked, looking over to her mentor in confusion.

"Harry is certainly more mature than any of his classmates, and I would suggest that he is even far more mature than any of you were at his age."

Dumbledore looked around, and judging by the expressions on the faces of the Order members, he knew his assumption was likely a valid one.

"For Harry, age is not the indicator. Instead it is the strength of his experiences, and let me assure you that despite his youth, he has dealt with more than most adults that I've met, and what's more, he's dealt with them in a manner that would be worthy of any grown man."

The Order members looked to be considering this, but their thoughts were interrupted when Dumbledore continued.

"There is a reason that most children do not act as adults do." Dumbledore said simply. "It is because they have not seen fear or revulsion, and they have not felt true pain. In short, they are naive of the true horrors of the world because the adults in their life protect them from it. For many reasons, and because of many mistakes, Harry has not had that protection, and he knows the frailties of the world perhaps better than anyone. Having seen true horror, even as young as eleven, Harry has had no choice but to grow up. Without the protection of adults in his life, Harry has been forced to rely on himself for survival. He does not act as a child now, because he no longer is one."

No one spoke, all of them unaware until this moment of exactly how difficult Harry's life had been. Dumbledore knew better than anyone that Harry had suffered, and the Headmaster was not going to make the same mistakes as he had done in the past; from now on he was going to treat Harry how he deserved to be treated. He was going to treat Harry with respect, because after everything that had happened, Harry had more than earned it.

Eventually though, the quiet voice of Remus Lupin broke through the silence.

"What did Harry mean, when he said that you could show us what happened in the graveyard?" he asked Dumbledore. "How would you be able to see what happened? Harry was there alone."

"Harry related the experience to his Godfather and I, mere minutes after his ordeal. I believe that it's that account that Harry wishes you to see. I believe he is correct in thinking that it will help you to see him in a different light."

"Does anyone have any objections?" Dumbledore asked the group. Upon seeing none, he summoned his Pensieve, and placed it in the centre of the dinner table.

"Well then, if you would all gather round," continued Dumbledore. One by one the Order members stepped forward, and waiting upon the Headmaster's signal, they looked nervously at one another. Judging by Dumbledore's grave expression as he emptied the memory into the Pensieve, this would not be a pleasant experience. Their apprehension grew as they wondered what could possibly cause such as expression to grace their leader's face. They were pulled out of their thoughts on the matter, however, when they each placed a hand to the Pensieve and were abruptly yanked into a memory and an experience that was not their own.

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><p>After they had gathered their bearings, the Order members found themselves in an office, and were startled to see that the Dumbledore in the memory was staring down at the unconscious figure of Barty Crouch Jr, with disgust written clearly all over his face.<p>

"Is that the imposter?" asked Bill Weasley, although judging by the look of hatred on Moody's face, an answer wasn't really necessary.

"Yes," the real Dumbledore replied gravely. "After Harry returned from the maze, Crouch used the confusion surrounding Cedric Diggory's death to kidnap Harry. We only just got here in time."

The Order members watched with unbridled curiosity, tapered with mounting apprehension as the memory continued to play. In the memory, Dumbledore bound Crouch and then issued his instructions to Snape and McGonagall, before turning his attention back to Harry who was sitting, white-faced and shaking in a chair nearby.

'_Harry?'_ the memory of Dumbledore said gently.

The Order members watched as a fourteen year old Harry, clearly traumatised by the events, stood shakily to his feet. He swayed and brought a hand to his leg, his face set in a grimace.

"He was injured?" exclaimed Lupin in surprise. "But Molly said that when he got to the hospital wing, he was fine. She didn't mention that he was hurt!"

"Harry had been attacked by one of the giant spiders in the maze. He and Cedric overcame it together, but not before one of its pincers made contact with Harry's leg," the real Dumbledore replied, his gaze unfaltering as he watched the memory, his thoughts clearly in another place. "He was healed before he arrived into Madame Pomfrey's care."

The memory continued, and they watched as Dumbledore gripped the arm of a now shaking Harry, concern on every one of the Order's faces.

"How is he still standing?" Kingsley asked, reluctantly impressed it seemed. He had known Auror recruits that would have collapsed by now. Or at least demanded a pain relieving potion, he thought wryly.

"Never mind that; where are you taking him in that condition?" Tonks asked, her nostrils flaring in anger.

The memory answered the question for her, however.

'_I want you to come up to my office first, Harry,' _the memory of Dumbledore said quietly, as they continued to walk along the passageway. The Order members followed.

'_Sirius is waiting for us there.'_

Lupin's heart ached at the thought of his dead friend, and what this situation would have been like for him, but at the moment his focus was more on Harry and shock he seemed to be in, in this memory. As they followed, a number of them noticed a range of emotions cross Harry's face. At first he seemed numb, but they soon saw pain and grief in his eyes.

'_Professor', _Harry mumbled, _'where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?'_

'_They are with Professor Sprout,' _the memory of Dumbledore answered, his voice shaking for the first time. _'She was Head of Cedric's house, and knew him best.'_

McGonagall looked towards her mentor in concern. She had known that losing a student had been difficult for him, but as long as she had known him, he had always been able to keep a tight control of his emotions. The fact that the control was wavering in this memory, showed just how deeply this experience had affected him. Her apprehension grew again.

They continued to follow the slow, limping progress of Harry and Dumbledore, until eventually they reached Dumbledore's office. When they entered the room, they each saw as a white faced Sirius launched himself across the room towards a shaking Harry.

'_Harry, are you alright? I knew it – I knew something like this – what happened?"_

Hearing Sirius speak, Lupin felt his heart break once again. It must have been so hard for his friend to see Harry like this. He looked so helpless, and not one of them missed his shaking hands as Sirius lowered an unresisting Harry into a chair. It was hard for them all now to even watch this, and they had the benefit of knowing that Harry really was ok.

'_What happened,' _the memory of Sirius asked more urgently.

The Dumbledore in the memory seemed to take a brief moment before launching into an explanation of Barty Crouch's actions, but although they were all listening, their focus was on Harry; the boy looked as if he was ready to faint.

In a rush of wings, they were surprised when Fawkes flew over to Harry and landed on his leg.

''_Lo, Fawkes,' _said Harry quietly, as he began to stroke the beautiful bird. The Order members watched with amazement as Fawkes seemed to blink peacefully at Harry, who seemed to look more relieved at the presence.

"Harry and Fawkes have a special relationship," Dumbledore said quietly, by way of explanation, as he noticed the amazed expressions on many of his friends.

In the memory, however, Dumbledore had stopped talking, and was now looking over to Harry, who was avoiding his gaze.

"Surely you aren't going to make him talk about it now, Albus?" McGonagall asked indignantly, having guessed what was about to happen. "He's clearly in shock."

Dumbledore didn't answer her, however; instead he just nodded back to the memory, indicating that all would become clear.

'_I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry,' _Dumbledore said. A number of the Order members glared at the real Dumbledore, surprised at how he was acting in the memory. The real Dumbledore simply ignored them, knowing that in this case at least, he had done the right thing for Harry.

'_We can leave that 'til morning, can't we, Dumbledore?' _Sirius said harshly. _'Let him sleep. Let him rest.'_

McGonagall nodded vehemently in agreement with Sirius, but the real Dumbledore just looked on gravely.

'_If I thought I could help you,' _the memory of Dumbledore said when Harry finally raised his head, _'by putting you into an enchanted sleep, and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.'_

"The easy thing and the right thing are not always the same," said Kingsley sagely, nodding in agreement with the memory as he remembered something that Dumbledore had told him years ago. No one replied to him, however, as Fawkes let out a soft, quavering note, an action that Harry seemed to draw strength from; something the order members observed in amazement. Harry began speaking with determination in his eyes, overcoming his shaking voice as he struggled with whatever horrors he was about to relive.

'_The cup was a Portkey,'_ he began shakily. _'Me and C-cedric...he... we both touched it at the same time and it pulled us to a Graveyard; the one I saw in my dream.'_

"Harry had a vision of Voldemort during that summer," Dumbledore interjected to explain before anyone could question him about it.

'_We both took out our wands, but before we could do anything Wormtail came. He was holding something. It looked like a baby at first but I couldn't see properly because then my scar started to hurt. Pretty badly actually. I collapsed and Cedric, he...he turned around to me.'_

'_I couldn't do anything...Cedric, he just...I heard a voice say 'Kill the Spare', and then Wormtail raised his wand. He just killed him. There was nothing I could do!'_

At this point Sirius looked as if he was about to say something, but the Order members watched as Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet him. Harry continued to speak quickly, after shooting what seemed to be a grateful look towards Dumbledore, obviously wanting to get it over with.

"He needed to keep speaking" was all that the real Dumbledore would say by way of explanation.

'_Then Wormtail dragged me up, and I couldn't fight him because my scar was hurting too much for me to even think properly, let alone escape. I couldn't even see through the pain. He tied me to one of the tombstones, the one belonging to Riddle's dad, I think. I tried everything to pull myself free, but I couldn't. I had to watch.'_ Harry paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as he remembered what he had been forced to see.

'_Watch what, Harry?' _prompted Dumbledore, although it was clear that he already knew the answer.

'_Watch Wormtail bring Voldemort back,' _Harry stated. He ignored the shocked gasp from Sirius, a reaction that many of the Order members also shared even though they had known about this part of the experience. Harry elaborated reluctantly as he clearly fought to keep his emotions in check.

'_He hit me when I began to struggle, and that's when I realised it was Wormtail. Because of his missing finger. He tied me up so that I couldn't even move my head. All I could see was Cedric's b-body, just lying there. I could see my wand as well, but... there was no way I would have been able to reach it, even if I had been untied. It was too far away.'_

"He was defenceless?" asked Tonks shocked, addressing no one is particular. "How the hell did he survive this?" No one answered her, because there was no answer to give. In this memory, only Harry knew, and he was about to tell them.

'_Then Wormtail was back, but he'd brought with him a huge stone cauldron. It only looked like it had water in it, but when he lit it, it began to bubble and send out sparks. That's when he picked up the thing he had been carrying before. It wasn't a baby, it was...no child ever looked like that.' _Harry's face twisted into an expression of disgust and fear, a fact that none of the observers missed.

'_And then Wormtail just dumped it into the cauldron, and the thing went below the surface. I thought it would die. I wanted it to die...'_

At this point Harry screwed his eyes shut, clearly stuck in the memory.

'_The pain in my scar was getting worse, but I could hear as Wormtail began adding more things to the potion. He...Wormtail took a bone from the grave, and then h-he cut off his own hand...called it 'flesh of the servant.''_

They watched as Sirius gave a growl at this, but he refrained from speaking. No one who was watching the memory could have made a noise, even if they could have thought of anything to say. They were all staring at the memory of Harry, transfixed by his horrifying tale. They had known that Harry had seen Voldemort rise again, but not one of them had truly comprehended what that meant until this moment.

'_Then he took some of my blood'._

Harry was interrupted at this point when Sirius let out a vehement exclamation, a reaction shared by many of those observing the memory. The Order watched as the Dumbledore in the memory stood up so quickly that it made a few of them jump.

'_Show me,' _Dumbledore demanded quickly, and Harry raised his arm in compliance.

'_He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's,' _Harry told Dumbledore. _'He said the protection my – my mother left in me – he'd have it, too. And he was right – he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.'_

"You look pleased by that, Albus," Moody asked suspiciously, looking intently at Dumbledore's reaction in the memory.

"It simply confirmed something for me," Dumbledore replied quietly and was saved from further interrogation when the Dumbledore in the memory began to speak to Harry once again.

'_Very well,' _Dumbledore said as he sat down again, _'Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please.'_

Harry seemed to screw his courage once more, and even Moody found that he was impressed by the fourteen year old's strength.

"_When Wormtail added my blood to the potion, I knew that it was finished. I kept praying that Wormtail had messed up somehow...but he hadn't. The potion turned white, but I kept hoping that it was dead...that whatever it was had drowned."_

Harry paused as he took a steadying breath.

"_But the light got too bright and it blinded me, and then, when I could see again, I saw... a m-man coming out of the cauldron. Only he looked more like a monster. Like something out of a nightmare..."_

Harry's eyes were clamped tight shut by this point, and his hand gripped his injured leg tightly, as though he was trying to squeeze out the pain.

"_As soon as he looked at me, I knew who it was. I think I'd known all along it would be Him, but I...didn't want to believe it."_

"None of us wanted to believe it," said Bill quietly, his thoughts going back to when he had first been informed of Voldemort's return. He would never forget the utter terror he had felt when he had heard that their worst fears had come true. He pulled himself out of his memories as Harry began to speak again.

"_Voldemort...he used Wormtail to summon the Death Eaters, but when he touched the Dark Mark, my scar seared with pain again."_ Harry grimaced at this, and each one of them knew that he was reliving the pain he just described.

_"And then he waited. He knew they'd come; that they'd be too scared to stay away. He kept talking though; he told me about his family...how he'd killed them."_

"I can't imagine that monster having a family," spat Tonks in disgust.

"He never knew his family," Dumbledore replied, equally angry, although he had heard this account once already. "He grew up in a muggle orphanage."

"He found out about them later, it appears," added Kingsley bitterly, before they all turned their attention back to the memory.

"_The Death Eaters- how long did it take them to arrive?" _asked Sirius, his pale face a reflection of the horror he must have felt when hearing what his fourteen year old Godson had been through.

"_Not long," _replied Harry._ "It was disgusting. They were all wearing their death eater masks but it seemed like Voldemort knew who was there anyway. They all fell to their knees...kissed his the bottom of his robes. They're cowards!"_

This was the most emotional they had seen Harry as he had spoken about his ordeal. Up until this point, he had appeared numb, as though he was talking about something that had happened years ago, rather than hours.

While everyone had been focused on Harry, no one noticed Snape flinch violently at Harry's words. Coward indeed...

'_That's actually what he accused them of being as well. And then he tortured one of them and...it was horrible. I kept hoping that the Death Eater's screams would carry to one of the other houses in the area. I wanted so badly for someone...anyone... to come"_

Both Dumbledore's looked pained at this, but the emotion was hidden before most could register it.

"_But no one did. He kept talking about his most loyal servants; those in Azkaban, and one at Hogwarts. It was him, wasn't it? It was Crouch all along?"_

The Dumbledore in the memory just nodded, but no one missed the look of intense guilt that adorned his features. Harry didn't notice it though; his gaze was locked on the floor, lost in the memory.

"_Then he told them about me; why I was there. He talked about my mum's sacrifice; how that was how he had been defeated. How I was nothing special. He told them all about how he had struggled to survive, how he had found Wormtail, how he had managed to return. And I couldn't move. I had to sit and listen to it all. And then..."_

"_Yes, Harry? _prompted Dumbledore.

"_And then he tortured me._" Harry whispered, although everyone heard. Sirius gasped, and out of the observers, half of them were in tears.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Snape said, his voice a mere whisper. He had noticed that the boy seemed to be exhibiting the after-effects of the curse, but he hadn't been sure until now. Oddly enough, even though he still thoroughly disliked the boy, he found himself feeling something akin to pity for him. Not even Potter deserved to suffer that kind of pain.

"_I've never felt anything like it," _Harry continued, obviously oblivious to the distress that the Order were currently in. _'It felt like I was on fire. I wanted it to stop more than anything...I wanted to die..."_

Even the usually stoic Moody looked grave at this point. No one deserved that. Potter had just been a kid, but to have to suffer through Voldemort's curse? He was interested to see how the boy got himself out of this. He knew that he had escaped, but Albus had never gone into much detail about it.

"_Then he told Wormtail to release me, and to give me back my wand. He wanted us to duel."_

"Constant Vigilance!" Moody grunted. "Never give an enemy the means to fight you."

"Tom has always greatly underestimated Harry. He sees him as a defenceless child, but Harry proves time and time again that it is not always about how much you know, but about what you do with that knowledge," Dumbledore said, and he noted that some of the Order members were shifting uncomfortably. Like it or not, they were guilty of thinking the same thing.

"_He tried to make me bow, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I just stood there, but Voldemort just raised his wand. I don't know what spell it was, but my back started to bend. I couldn't stop it..." _Harry took a deep breath.

"_And then he... he cursed me again."_

"Twice?" asked Tonks incredulously. "Voldemort cursed him twice and he was still able to escape? I doubt I would have even been able to stand!" No one disagreed with her, all of them thinking the same thing.

"_When he took the curse off, I...I couldn't stop shaking but I got to my feet anyway. If I was going to die, I was going to die fighting."_

Mad-eye couldn't help the small smile that made it's way onto his scarred features when he heard that. The boy would make an excellent Auror.

"_And then he asked me if I wanted him to do it again. I knew he was toying with me, but I wasn't about to beg him. I think he was annoyed by that, because that's when he... he tried to use the Imperius Curse on me."_

"Two of the unforgivables! From You Know Who? And he's still alive?" gasped McGonagall, the whiteness of her skin a testament to the extent of her shock.

"_He kept telling me to say no. 'Just say no'. But... I didn't want to. Something in the back of my mind kept telling me to ignore Voldemort. In the end, I just screamed 'I won't!' He... didn't take too kindly to that."_

"Harry fought off Voldemort's Imperius Curse?" Bill asked no one in particular, awe evident in his voice. Even Snape looked surprised, although he tried hard not to show it.

"_He got angry at that, but when he tried to curse me again, I just jumped out of the way. He missed, and I hid behind a headstone. I didn't have a plan though. I just wanted... the pain to stop. He kept taunting me, and I knew that I couldn't stay there forever. I'd have to face him at some point. I didn't want to die like a coward. I wanted to fight, even if no defence was possible."_

At this point, the Order members noticed that Sirius had tears running unchecked down his face. Remus knew why; Harry had looked so like his father when he had made that last statement, that it was almost as if they had their old friend back. It was as if he was channelling James' very spirit. To fight, even when he thought he would die, was a bravery that James had possessed even until the very end. It appeared that Harry had inherited more from his father than just his looks.

"_So I jumped out from behind the grave stone, and tried to disarm him. It's not like I knew how to duel...stupid Lockhart..."_

"The man was an idiot," said McGonagall, although her worry for her student was clouding her anger at Lockhart. She knew that Harry had survived, but she honestly couldn't see how. The boy hadn't even been able to duel, and yet, somehow he had taken on Voldemort and escaped.

"_He...he was ready though," _Harry continued, although his eyes were shut again, and his breathing was becoming uneven. Anticipation grew among the Order. Even the description of the torture had not elicited this reaction from Harry. What could be possibly worse?

"_He used the killing curse," _Harry said, causing shocked gasps from everyone, both those within the memory and those watching it.

"But...how...?" Tonks asked, but no one could answer her, shock palpable in the air.

"_The spells...they kind of...hit...each other. The wands connected and then..."_

But here Happy stopped speaking, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He seemed to make another attempt at saying aloud whatever was haunting him, but he couldn't. Whatever it was, it was worse than Voldemort aiming the Killing Curse at him, and for the Order members, that thought truly terrified each and every one of them.

"_The wands connected?' _Sirius said. _"Why?"_

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and when they followed his gaze, the Order members were surprised to see an arrested look on the Headmaster's face.

"_Priori Incantatem," _Dumbledore muttered in the memory.

"_The reverse spell effect?" _Sirius asked sharply.

"Oh God..." whispered McGonagall. She knew exactly what that meant, and what would happen next. That poor boy...

"_Exactly,' _said the Dumbledore in the memory. "_Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix in fact."_

"_My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" _Harry said, clearly amazed.

"_Yes," _said Dumbledore, _"Mr Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."_

That could be useful in the future, thought Moody, already subconsciously planning training for the boy. He had supported Harry's involvement in the Order all along, and this memory was only serving to strengthen his convictions. He would make sure that the boy was prepared, even if it was the last thing he ever did on this earth. Constant Vigilance...

"_So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" _said Sirius.

_They will not work properly against each other," _said Dumbledore. _"If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle...a very rare effect will take place."_

Every single Order member's attention hung on the explanation that the memory of Dumbledore was supplying, and yet most kept half an eye on Harry. He looked extremely pale, and his eyes were dull, lost in whatever memory his mind was reliving and barely focusing on the room at all.

The memory of Dumbledore continued, his gaze fixed firmly on Harry. _"One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed – in reverse. The most recent first...and then those which preceded it..."_

Realisation hit many of the Order now, as they realised what must have occurred. Nothing else would have caused Harry to have this sort of reaction. The Dumbledore in the memory looked over to Harry for confirmation, and Harry just nodded dully

"_Which means," _said Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, _"that some form of Cedric must have re-appeared."_

Tonks gasped loudly at this, as she saw Harry nod his head yet again.

"_Diggory came back to life?" _said Sirius sharply. None of them missed the look of hope that crossed Harry's face, and it seemed neither had the Dumbledore in the memory.

"_No spell can reawaken the dead," _said Dumbledore heavily. _"All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand...am I correct, Harry?"_

"_He spoke to me," _Harry said. It was clear that he was nearing the end of his endurance. He was visibly shaking once again, and McGonagall had to suppress the sudden urge to hold on to the boy and never let go.

"_The...ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."_

"_An echo," _said Dumbledore, "_which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared...less recent victims of Voldemort's wand..."_

"_An old man," _Harry said, his voice still clearly constricted. _"Bertha Jorkins. And..."_

"_Your parents?" _said Dumbledore quietly, the real Dumbledore still looking on with a grave expression on his face.

"He saw James and Lily..." Lupin whispered, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

"_The last murders the wand performed," _said the memory of Dumbledore, nodding. _"In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows...what did they do?"_

"_They...all of them...they kind of prowled around the edge. They kept talking to me and I knew that Voldemort was scared of them. He was terrified. I don't think he understood what was going on any more than I did."_

Harry closed his eyes once again, and the pain in his expression was clear for all to see. _"My dad spoke to me. He told me that they would help me...that I had to get back to the Portkey so that I could get back to Hogwarts."_

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Lupin smiled sadly. How very like James and Lily to find a way to protect their son, even in the afterlife.

"_Cedric asked me to take his body back. I couldn't leave him there..."_

Silence reigned both in the memory and amongst its observers, and it was clear that Harry had reached his limit; that he could speak no more. The Order, shell shocked from the ordeal, looked on as Fawkes began to cry on Harry's leg, effectively erasing all existence of the injury.

If only the entire experience was that easy to erase, thought Dumbledore gravely.

"_I will say it again" _said the memory of Dumbledore as the observers watched the Phoenix take flight. _"You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it – you have given us all we have a right to expect." _

On hearing this, the Order members looked to one another, silently coming to a consensus regarding Harry's request. Dumbledore was right; Harry had done as much as any of them had, maybe even more.

"_You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion and some peace...Sirius, would you like to stay with him?"_

Sirius nodded and the Order members watched as he transformed and followed Harry and Dumbledore out of the office. They remained for only a second more, before they were gently pulled out of the memory and brought back into the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>For a while, no one spoke. Some were too upset, and some were too shocked, all of them lost in their own thoughts, but in the end the silence was broken by a grim faced Moody.<p>

"The boy's earned the right to come to the meetings. He can handle it," stated Moody decisively, respect clear in his voice. No one, not even Snape, could disagree. They each remembered Harry's parting words as he'd left the Great Hall.

'_I'm no longer a child that needs your protection. I have no innocence left to protect.'_

And after what they had just witnessed, not one of them could deny it.

* * *

><p>AN- Thanks for reading! So was it ok? Let me know what you thought!

Coming up... _Chapter 9: A Guilty Conscience_


	9. A Guilty Conscience

**A/N- **Hi again! I know there was a slightly longer wait for this chapter, but I hope it's worth the extra time it took me to write it. Thanks again for all the reviews, alerts and favourites that people have given this story- it really means a lot to me. I try to reply to every review I get, but sometime it takes me a bit of time. Please know, I really appreciate all the support! Happy reading!

**Warnings:** Talks of physical abuse in this chapter, though nothing too explicit.

****Disclaimer: ****Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: <strong>A Guilty Conscience

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><p><em>Roll away your stone, I'll roll away mine.<em>

_Together we can see what we will find._

_Don't leave me alone at this time,_

_For I'm afraid of what I will discover inside._

'_**Roll away your stone**__**', Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

><p>From his vantage point at the top of the Astronomy tower, Harry looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts, watching the sun begin to set as his mind went back over everything that had happened recently. He knew that he should be happy; not only was he free from the Dursleys after only a few weeks with them, but he was also at Hogwarts, his first real home, and able to use magic for the entire summer. The possibilities were endless. And yet, that was part of the problem.<p>

Where did he go from here?

Whilst he had been living on Privet Drive, Harry's options had been pretty limited, and so had his study; all he'd had access to was the textbooks he had used for his school work, and whatever books he could borrow from members of the Order. They had been the perfect distraction from his despair. By focusing on the content of the books, he could shut off his grief; or at least push it to the back of his mind. He didn't have to plan, or think; he only had to learn. It gave him a blessed numbness about his situation that he was craving at the moment. By concentrating only on his study, he could almost forget why it was that he was studying in the first place. In the few weeks at the Dursleys he had been able to get into a routine of sorts, and it had allowed him to almost shut off his emotions entirely.

Now, he had not only the resource of the entire school library, but he also had whatever he asked the Room of Requirement to conjure up. He had so many options, so many possibilities.

And yet, Harry just felt lost.

He had been stood at the open window of the Astronomy tower since he had left the Great Hall over an hour ago, and he had no intention of moving just yet. He had briefly thought about going back to his dormitory to do some more reading, but he knew that Remus and the others would probably head there as soon as they had finished watching Professor Dumbledore's memory, and he would rather avoid them at the moment. They would be concerned, and would need reassurance that he was alright. In all honesty, though, he had bigger things to worry about these days. The third task had been over a year ago now, and nothing they said to him would change how he felt about it; the guilt would likely haunt him until his dying day.

He didn't need their pity either though. The only reason he had even suggested they look at the memory was so that they would stop seeing him as the child he no longer was. He didn't need them to feel sorry for him when he knew that it would change nothing; he had gotten along fine before they even knew the full extent of his horrors, and he would get along fine without them now. Right now, Harry just wanted to be left alone.

Or did he?

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair and sighed in frustration. His thoughts had been a jumbled mess since he had arrived back at Hogwarts, and his current headache certainly wasn't helping. Half the time he felt confident in his plans, and was sure that he was doing the right thing by staying distant from everyone. The rest of the time he was so unsure in himself that he craved someone, _anyone_, to help him, to point him in the right direction.

He would never allow himself to ask for it though. He _had_ to be strong from now on. He needed respect; he needed everyone to think that he could handle these things because if they didn't have confidence in him, how could he even begin have confidence in himself?

Harry was quickly falling back into the emotional state he had been in at the beginning of the summer. Whilst at the Dursleys' he had been able to distract himself by studying without interruption; here he knew that he would get no such peace. They would want to keep checking up on him, to make sure that he was alright. But in all honesty, he hadn't been alright since the night Sirius had died; since the night he had discovered his destiny. How could anyone possibly understand that the burden of Voldemort's defeat lay with him and him alone? That any life lost was a failure on his part because he was not ready to do what was demanded of him? How could anyone ever say that they knew how he felt, when he was alone in that? It was his burden; no one else's.

What he wanted, and he was almost ashamed to admit it, was simply someone who he could talk to about his worries. Someone like a parent. But he couldn't; there was no one left. His parents and Godfather were gone, and Harry had never felt more alone.

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

Harry was startled out of his thoughts as a voice fought through the haze of his consciousness. He turned, and was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore looking at him with an expression that betrayed his teacher's worry. The Headmaster quickly tried to add a reassuring smile to his face, but Harry hadn't missed the anxiousness, and he certainly wasn't fooled.

"Sir? How did know where I was?" Harry asked quietly, although he was careful not to appear rude. He had wanted to be left alone, which was one of the reasons he had come to the top of the Astronomy tower. Solitude was easy to find in the castle if you knew where to look.

"Ah, I think, as Headmaster, I'm entitled to a few secrets, Harry," Dumbledore said with a small smile on his face, a smile which Harry, despite his morose mood, found he was able to return.

"I came to tell you that the Order has reached a decision, regarding your attendance in the meetings."

"And?" asked Harry, although he wasn't as anxious for an answer as he might have been only a year ago. So much had changed since last summer. He had changed.

"It was unanimous. You will not join the Order, but you will be allowed to attend the meetings if you so wish."

"You watched the memory, then," Harry said, and it was a statement rather than a question. He knew that something must have happened to change their minds so drastically, and he couldn't think of anything else.

Dumbledore nodded. "Although when you do attend tonight, I would advise you to avoid antagonising Professor Snape any further. I have already had to deter him, rather forcibly I might add, from adding Veritaserum to your morning pumpkin juice." Despite the warning, the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes betrayed his amusement at the matter.

"I must admit, however, I too find myself curious as to how a Gryffindor student knows the layout to the Slytherin Common room so well." Dumbledore had turned his attention to the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts, but Harry hadn't missed the look of curiosity and amusement that had briefly crossed the Headmaster's face.

"I think we students are entitled to a few secrets of our own, Professor," Harry replied, mimicking Dumbledore's previous answer, and was surprised to hear the Headmaster chuckle. They fell into an easy silence, and Harry found that, despite the fact that he had been craving solitude, he didn't mind the company of his Headmaster as much as he thought he would.

"Harry, we need to talk," Dumbledore said suddenly, and Harry, who had been reluctantly lulled into a sense amusement by the Headmaster, found that the statement caught him by surprise.

"What do you mean, Sir?" he asked apprehensively, looking towards the Headmaster.

"Harry, we need to discuss how you came to receive that bruise," said Dumbledore gravely, and upon hearing that, Harry immediately turned away from the Professor, unable to prevent his hand unconsciously moving to touch the tender spot.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine. It's not important," Harry replied quickly, his gaze fixed firmly out of the window in an effort to avoid looking into his Headmaster's seemingly all-knowing eyes.

"It most certainly is important. If you have been living in an abusive situation all these years..."

"I'm not abused!" Harry insisted. It had only been the odd hit now and then, Harry convinced himself. It wasn't as bad as Dumbledore was making it out to be. He wasn't _weak!_

"Harry we need to know," Dumbledore persisted. "There is another child in that house, and if Vernon is violent..."

"Uncle Vernon would never hit Dudley!" Harry scoffed, although he immediately quietened, fully aware that he had said more than he had intended to.

"And you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked sadly, but Harry remained stoic. He had bigger things to worry about, and he wasn't sure why his Headmaster was making such a big deal out of it. It was only a little bruise.

"Why does it matter?" Harry asked him, although he still refused steadfastly to look his Professor in the face. "It's not like I'm in any danger there. In fact, it's the only place I'm _not_ in danger. Anyway, I'm here now, so why do you care?"

"Harry, I've always cared a great deal!" Dumbledore responded desperately.

At hearing the stark emotion his Headmaster's voice, Harry's head shot up, and he found himself looking into light blue eyes, devoid of any twinkle, filled instead with sadness and regret.

"Harry, I need to know. And what's more, I think you need to tell me," Dumbledore prompted gently and in that moment, Harry knew that he would tell this man everything; that he could trust him. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned back towards the window.

"It was never that bad," said Harry quietly, his eyes tightly closed as he admitted for the first time in his life, just how badly the Dursley's treated him. "I could handle it. Just the odd smack every now and then, maybe a few days without food." He'd said all this in a nonchalant manner, but he couldn't prevent his voice from breaking slightly. He wasn't lying; he _could _handle it. But the truth was, he had hated his childhood, and for the first time in his memory he giving someone else a little insight into that. More than anything, Harry was scared that Dumbledore would treat him differently now; that he would think that he was weak. Harry didn't think he could handle it, if that turned out to be the case.

When this statement was met with nothing but silence, Harry cautiously opened his eyes to look at his mentor. Mesmerised, Harry watched as a lone tear escaped Dumbledore's bright blue eye, and travelled down, eventually becoming lost in his long white beard.

"You really didn't know, did you?" Harry stated softly, keeping his voice calm to hide the fact that his heart was hammering beneath his chest. "I always thought you _must_ know. I mean...how could you not? Everyone knows I hate it there; did you honestly think there was no reason for it? That I was just being ungrateful? I mean..."

"Harry, no!" Dumbledore cried desperately as he interrupted Harry's nervous ramblings. "I would never think that! We have been unforgivably ignorant, but that is no excuse. I knew that you were treated unfavourably, but if I thought that you were in any danger..."

"Aunt Petunia would never let it go too far," Harry said defensively. "And besides, it's better than being tortured by Voldemort. Or getting someone else killed because I happened to be staying with them when he attacked me!"

Harry's anger grew, not at Dumbledore, but at the situation that had ruled his entire life. All he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be normal, but he couldn't even have that.

"Harry, it matters a great deal!" Dumbledore said, trying desperately to get Harry to understand how much he cared. How much they all cared. "To be abused..."

"I'm not bloody abused," said Harry, feeling more frustrated at Dumbledore now. "My life has never been perfect, but honestly it wasn't that bad. I'm alive aren't I?"

"You are alive at the cost of your childhood," said Dumbledore sadly, ignoring the frustration and anger that was seeping into Harry's voice. "It was not worth the price. We could have helped you. We would not have allowed it to continue, I assure you. Why did you never say anything?"

"When I was little, I never had anyone to tell," Harry stated bluntly, and was startled to see Dumbledore flinch at the words.

"Violence is not a new development then?"

Harry simply ignored the question, and continued to stare out onto the grounds. He might have admitted to his Uncle's treatment, but he still wasn't ready to go into any great detail. Not yet, anyway.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Like you told me at the end of the year- my safety is more important than my happiness." The toneless voice that Harry said this in caused guilt to rise up in Professor Dumbledore once again. So many mistakes...

"I thought that Petunia might hold a grudge but had hoped that she would be able to get past that once you were in her care. If I had known...Harry, I would never leave someone in an abusive situation like that, no matter how important the blood wards are."

"I'm not abused..." Harry replied half-heartedly. The anger was gone now. The kindness that Dumbledore was showing, the reassurance that he would have saved him, that he was not alone; it was almost too much. Harry couldn't speak anymore; he was afraid that if he did, he would not be able to prevent his voice from breaking in a betrayal of his emotions.

"You need to talk to someone," said Dumbledore, aware that Harry was not going to speak anymore. "I'm not saying that you have to talk to me, but you need to speak with someone. By bottling it all up, you are merely putting a stopper on the problem. It is only prolonging the point at which you have to deal with it. You do not have to be strong all the time."

"Yes I do," Harry whispered, and Dumbledore gasped softly as he felt his heart break at the words. This child had been through so much, and yet all he seemed to get in return was heartbreak and pain.

Harry looked up at the noise and saw the seriousness of feeling reflected in Dumbledore's eyes. He saw grief, guilt, pain and regret, but most of all he recognised the absence of everything that should have been there; happiness, mirth and a twinkle that told you that the Headmaster knew a lot more that everyone else but that you could still trust him to to what was best.

It was wrong, Harry thought, that Dumbledore should look so old now. So weak. So human. He was supposed to be the beacon of hope, the leader of the light; when all else failed, people would always look to the Headmaster for help, and more often than not, they would receive it.

But, as Harry was finally noticing, Dumbledore was only human, and he had never realised just how much until now. Harry had thought that he was alone with the weight of his burden, but looking at the old man in front of him now, he realised with no small amount of shame, that this man's burden was equally as great, if not greater. Not only did he have the fate of the Wizarding world on his shoulders as well, especially with his role in the Order of the Phoenix, but he also suffered through the untold pressure of knowing that of his mistakes could be costly, even disastrous.

He was a brilliant man, of that Harry had no doubt, but was he perfect?

Everyone expected Dumbledore to be so, but how could he be expected to refrain from making mistakes when he was as human as the rest of them? Cleverer, yes, but certainly no less human.

Harry had finally realised, as he looked at the grief evident in his Headmaster's eyes, what he should have realised years ago; that he was not the only one who could not fail.

He was not alone.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, clearly about to apologise and beg for forgiveness, but Harry suddenly realised that he no longer needed to hear it. The time had come for him to do something that he should have done all along.

"Harry, I -" Dumbledore began.

"Sir, I need your help," Harry interrupted.

"Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am," Dumbledore said sincerely, and Harry was taken aback by the strength of feeling in his words. "I have failed to protect you, and I'm not sure I will ever forgive myself for the damage my actions have unconsciously brought. I will do whatever you ask of me, dear boy."

"Sir, when I was younger you once said to me that it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live." Harry replied. "Well, I think it works another way too; it doesn't do to dwell on the past and our mistakes either."

Harry looked up at his Professor, and seeing that Dumbledore was seemingly unable to reply, Harry continued.

"Last year was tough, but... I've long forgiven you for any mistakes you have made towards me. Now you're going to have to do the same for yourself, Sir." Harry looked up at Dumbledore apologetically, hoping not to offend the man, but he stood firmly behind his words.

"I'm alive, thanks to you," Harry continued, "and I intend to stay that way, but I...I need your help professor, and you need to be able to move forward to give it. I've thought about it a lot and, well...the present would be wasted if we spent it worrying about our mistakes in the past. What we need to do is use it to prepare us for our lives in the future."

"You have become very wise, Harry." Dumbledore said looking at Harry with an expression that was a mixture of surprise, sadness and pride.

"I don't think so, Professor," replied Harry quietly. "I've just been thinking about things a lot lately. Living the life I have, you tend to learn these sorts of lessons quickly. S-Sirius wouldn't want me to dwell on him, but his death...it's just... I know what's important now, and what isn't."

Harry looked up at his mentor, his eyes brightening with unshed tears at the thought of Sirius.

"Professor, our past mistakes don't define us any more than our abilities. It is our choices, Sir." Harry continued, giving a wry smile to the Professor. When Dumbledore replied with a weak smile of his own, Harry knew that he remembered saying those words to a twelve year old Harry, only a few years ago.

* * *

><p>"Shall we walk together to the Order meeting, Harry?" said Dumbledore after a few minutes of looking deep in thought. Harry knew that it was Dumbledore's way of acknowledging Harry's request, and he was grateful for it.<p>

"Alright," Harry replied. "Maybe along the way you can tell me that useful way that you seemed to know where I was? It would certainly help Gryffindor if I had some way of avoiding Snape." Harry, of course, already had the Marauder's Map to perform this task, but he had hoped that by saying this he could lighten the mood a bit.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore warned, although the twinkle was returning to his eyes. "And I may choose to reveal my secret if you would care to share how you managed to gain entry into the Slytherin Common room?"

"Malfoy let us in" Harry said nonchalantly, shrugging for effect.

Dumbledore wasn't fooled. He raised one eyebrow and shrewdly asked, "Willingly?"

"He may not have been completely aware of our identity at the time," Harry amended sheepishly, but Dumbledore simply chuckled.

"I'm sure that I don't want to know the rest of that story," Dumbledore said lightly, as they walked along the corridor that would take them to the Great Hall.

"So..." Harry prompted, but he was met with only an amused look from Dumbledore.

"You wish to know how I located you, I assume?" At Harry's nod, Dumbledore continued.

"House-elves have powers that no wizard can fully understand. And working in Hogwarts kitchen is one particular House-elf who seems to have a somewhat obsessive view of the 'Great Harry Potter.'"

"Dobby?" guessed Harry incredulously. "Dobby told you where I was?"

Dumbledore merely smiled in reply, and Harry knew that that was the most that he would get out of the Professor. In any case, they had reached the doors of the Great Hall, but Harry, who was nervous about the reactions of some of the Order members, hesitated for a moment. It was a reaction that Dumbledore didn't miss.

"Don't worry, Harry," said Dumbledore jovially, the twinkle back in full force, "Severus will not poison you. At least, not whilst there are so many witnesses."

"It's not him I'm worried about," Harry muttered quietly, thinking forcibly about Mrs Weasley's reaction to him being allowed to attend the meeting.

"Nonsense," Dumbledore said. "You have nothing to worry about."

At seeing that Harry still had no intention of entering yet, Dumbledore gave him a gentle nudge and said, "Come along, dear boy. It would be a sad state of affairs if I was late to my own meeting."

Realising that he had little choice but to comply, Harry followed Dumbledore through the huge wooden doors to where the Order had gathered once again.

* * *

><p>Silence. Harry had not expected to be greeted with silence. The second he had entered the Great Hall, all conversations stopped, and all attention had turned to him. He walked with his head down, following Dumbledore's path, trying to ignore the intense scrutiny of all those eyes upon him.<p>

"Potter," said Moody, nodding towards Harry with something akin to respect in his gnarled features. Unsure how to react to that, Harry just nodded in reply and took a seat at the far end of the table.

As Harry nervously sat down, he watched with apprehension as Mrs Weasley noticed his presence at the meeting. She looked quickly from him to Dumbledore, concern and confusion in her eyes.

"Albus -" she began, but to Harry's relief she was gracefully interrupted by the Professor before she had a chance to properly object, as Harry knew she would.

"Molly," Dumbledore said, "we will discuss this later. For now, however, we have more pressing matters to attend to." Harry noticed that Dumbledore shot Snape a look as well whilst he was saying this, and Harry knew that the message was aimed as a warning to him too.

The meeting began in earnest then, and Harry found that it wasn't long before he was caught up on events. Voldemort, according to Snape, seemed to be lying low at the moment. The battle at the Ministry had altered his plans somewhat, and what's more, he had apparently been weakened when Harry had managed to throw him out of his mind. Harry had to make a special effort to avoid the looks of surprise and respect that were shot his way when that particular information had been shared.

Voldemort's Death Eaters, however, were fully active and the Order was specifically concerned with how to prevent the growing number of muggle baiting reports.

"Fudge is being an idiot," Moody said bluntly, and Harry looked towards him in surprise.

"He's still Minister?" asked Harry incredulously, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun. "But everyone knows that he was wrong about Voldemort now – "

Snape looked about to say something insulting, Harry thought, about his arrogance or his ignorance no doubt, but Kingsley interrupted him before the Potions master could speak.

"Fudge still has a lot of friends in very high places," he said gravely, his deep voice doing little to reassure Harry at the moment. "We've been trying for weeks to move for a new election, but we've been unsuccessful so far."

"There are rumours though," interjected Mr Weasley. "People are starting to say that Fudge is acting like a madman. If we could only prove it, then we'd finally have enough ammunition to force him out."

The meeting progressed then, but Harry barely listened. From what he could gather, the Order's main problem was that they couldn't get to the Death Eaters quickly enough to capture any of them, or even save the muggles they were attacking. They needed a way to alert them to the Death Eaters more quickly...

"How much support do we still have within the Ministry," Harry asked curiously, as an idea began to form in his mind.

"We have some contacts in all the major departments, but Fudge's control is preventing us from having much influence anywhere," replied Kingsley.

"Why do you ask, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore, having noticed that Harry had been deep in thought at the reply.

"Well, I was thinking..." replied Harry a little nervously, "has anyone considered setting up a taboo?"

"A taboo?" said Tonks, and Harry moved quickly to explain, trying to ignore all the eyes that were upon him.

"Yeah, erm...I've been doing a lot of reading lately, and I came across something that might help us. A taboo, if we could set one up, is supposed to help us track people...well, actually it can alert us to certain people's locations."

At seeing some confused faces, as well as some considering ones, Harry continued quickly, bolstered by the fact that no one had laughed at his idea yet.

"We'd set the spell up so that whenever someone said a key phrase, or word, we would be told immediately where that person was."

"And how exactly is that supposed to help us, Potter?" Snape scoffed, but Harry wasn't about to let Snape's grudge prevent him from sharing what he thought was something worth considering.

"I thought you were supposed to be a Slytherin, Professor?" Harry asked, smirking. "Where is that famous Slytherin cunning hiding, I wonder?" Harry heard a few stifled sniggers at his comment, but due the look of rage on Snape's face, it was difficult for Harry to be amused himself.

Turning back to the rest of the table, Harry continued, "If we could get support from within the Ministry, we could use the spell to catch Death Eaters. All we'd need to do is set it up so that anytime someone said the phrase 'Dark Lord' we'd be alerted to the location of that person. Only His followers call him that, so what the spell would essentially be doing, is telling us exactly where all the Death Eaters are hiding."

"Brilliant..." whispered Tonks.

"I reckon they'd catch on eventually, but I'm sure we'd be able to capture quite a few before they did. That, and it would definitely piss old Tom off," Harry said to general astonishment.

"Would that work?" McGonagall asked Dumbledore ignoring Harry's last statement, and the Headmaster looked thoughtful for a moment before he replied.

"It is certainly something we should give some further consideration to," he said as he looked over to Harry, his eyes twinkling madly with what appeared to be pride.

"For now though, I believe we should adjourn the meeting there," Dumbledore continued. "I would like to do some research myself on the matter."

As soon as he heard those words, Harry jumped up and moved quickly to the doors, hoping to get to the common room before anyone else. He ignored Lupin's calls for him to slow down and carried on through the corridors, reaching his dormitory quickly, long before anyone could question him. He may have been alright talking to Professor Dumbledore before the meeting, but there was only so much Harry could take in one day. For now, as he lay on his bed and prepared himself for yet another night of nightmares, Harry wanted to be alone once more.

* * *

><p>AN- So what did you all think? Harry had finally told someone about the abuse...sort of. I realise that there has been a lot of characterisation and talking so far, but I assure you all, the action really begins in the next couple of chapters. Until then, hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Coming up... _Chapter 10: Deepest Desires_


	10. Deepest Desires

**A/N- **Hi once again! Just to let you know, this is a bit of an angsty chapter. For all the people who are getting a bit bored of that, I just wanted to say that this story isn't going to be all doom and gloom (I have some excellent ideas lined up for Snape and Umbridge that should be hilarious if I can pull them off) so please stick with it. Also, for some reason, I found this chapter really difficult to write so it might not be one of my best. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: <strong>Deepest Desires

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><p><em>I'm so tired of being here,<em>

_Suppressed by all my childish fears._

_And if you have to leave,_

_I wish that you would just leave._

_Your presence still lingers here,_

_And it won't leave me alone._

_These wounds won't seem to heal,_

_This pain is just too real,_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase._

'_**My Immortal', Evanescence **_

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><p>Harry crept through the dark, empty corridors of Hogwarts as quietly and as quickly as possible, clinging to his invisibility cloak as he shivered in the early morning cold. He hoped that it still covered him entirely despite the fact that he had grown a lot in the last few years. Even though he knew no one would be awake this early, he was still careful to be as silent as possible as he paced aimlessly through the school, wearing nothing but his ratty, hand-me down pyjamas. He did not want anyone to find him; not like this.<p>

Harry was walking with speed but no actually purpose, his bare feet padding almost silently against the cold stone floor of the vacant corridor. Having woken up after a particularly horrific, but not unusual, nightmare, Harry knew that he wouldn't get anymore sleep tonight, and he couldn't stand being in the dormitory for another second. He felt constricted there; trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him. Walking helped him to clear his mind of the horrible images that had filled his consciousness only an hour ago; Cedric's deadened eyes, his mother's scream, Sirius falling through the veil...

_Stop, _Harry told himself desperately. _Don't think about that!_

But as he wandered along the seventh floor corridor, his mind would simply not obey him and the images continued to parade torturously through his mind. At the Dursley's, whenever he had had a nightmare this summer, he had simply paced around his room until his mind had gone mercifully blank and he was able to push the memories away.

Since his talk with Dumbledore, however, Harry had been thinking almost incessantly about his childhood; the pain, the loneliness, the starvation for nothing more than a kind word every now and then, and the fact that it had always been denied him. But worst of all, this led to other thoughts, and now Harry found that he couldn't stop thinking, with a great deal of bitterness, about how much better his life would have been had it not been for Voldemort; the life he could, and should, have had.

Voldemort had taken everything from him before Harry had even had a chance to appreciate what he had to lose, but the worst thing he had done was to ensure that Harry simply had no future until the Dark Lord was dead.

Harry's mind screamed with the injustice of it! How he envied Ron and Hermione. They didn't know how lucky they were to have someone they could count on no matter what; they had family, something he had craved his entire life, but had always been denied. At the moment, Harry would do anything to see his parents once more. He wanted nothing more than to see Sirius smile again so that he could replace the horrifying image of his death with a memory that was more positive; that he wanted to remember.

Harry stopped abruptly, pulled from his thoughts as he noticed the wall in front of him begin to change of its own accord. A door appeared from the middle of the stone and Harry, unlike most students at Hogwarts, knew what it was; it was the Room of Requirement, and it was opening up for him.

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><p>Harry stared at the newly formed door, as fear and shock seemed to root him to the spot. Only one thing entered his mind: <em>What did I ask for?<em>

But before that thought had even fully formed, he knew exactly what he had wanted and what he had been unknowingly been asking for, just before the door had appeared.

He had wanted to see Sirius again, and he had craved one last chance to see his parents.

Did he dare hope? He knew, as Dumbledore had once told him, that no spell could bring back the dead, but Harry was also certain that Hogwarts held magic that even the Professor couldn't understand. Was it possible...?

Harry walked over to the door, oblivious to the fact that his invisibility cloak had slipped off him, falling, unnoticed by Harry, to the floor. He lifted a shaking hand to the newly formed door handle, and pale with hope and anticipation, he opened the door and crept inside.

"Hello?" Harry asked the darkened room he had found himself in. He squinted around desperately, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he searched for his greatest wish, his deepest desire. He wished he could see; the darkness in the room constricted his sight and raised his anticipation so much that Harry was almost unable to take a breath. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than light appeared, although Harry couldn't see the source. He didn't notice, nor did he care, that the light appeared from nowhere. All he could focus on was what the Room of Requirement had provided for him.

He was looking directly into the eyes of his parents, their sadness palpable in their expressions. He looked to their left and gazed longingly into the face of his Godfather, who at this moment looked as if he had never even heard of Azkaban, let alone had spent twelve years there; his expression was carefree, the lines on his face which had been so prevalent when Harry had known him in life, were absent now.

With difficulty, he tore himself away from the faces he had craved to see, hoping to understand how this could have happened; how his greatest wish had been granted. Deep down he knew that it was too could to be true, that they couldn't possibly be here alive, when in one way or another he had witnessed each of their deaths in vivid detail. To his complete devastation, when Harry studied the now lit room in more detail, he realised that his instincts were right.

In front of him, holding up the images of the lost family that he had gazed at hungrily, only a moment ago, was the Mirror of Erised.

Harry snapped his eyes shut as quickly as if he had seen the shadow of a Basilisk, his heart beating furiously beneath his thin pyjama top.

_No! _His mind cried as he fought hard to control his shock_, no, no, no, no, no!_

His breath was coming out in gasps and he knew that his reflection in the mirror in front of him would have been deathly pale, had he been able to find the courage to open his eyes to see it.

All his previous hope came crashing down painfully as he realised what the room had done. He had unknowingly asked for his deepest desire, and Hogwarts had provided it. He had hoped, when the room had appeared, that the impossible had been achieved, that he would no longer be alone. He now realised, however, with an ache in his heart that he knew would never go away, that it was a just a dream; a childish fantasy, that even the magic of Hogwarts couldn't make real.

Tears prickled at his eyes, but he wiped at them angrily. It was stupid, he thought, that he had ever believed that it would be possible for them to return. His eyes were still tightly closed, but he knew that no matter how much it would hurt to see them now, he would not be able to refrain from looking at their faces much longer.

The power that this mirror had had over him when he had first been confronted with its special qualities at only eleven years old had been frightening, a fact he had only realised once he had been eventually brought to his senses. If Professor Dumbledore had not found him, had not explained the dangers that the mirror held, then Harry was certain that he would have wasted away his life staring into its depths.

Now, as he opened his eyes, nearly five years after that harrowing experience, he knew that the mirror would have no less hold over him now than it had had then.

Once again he was presented with the images of his parents and Godfather, and this time he took more time to examine them, not wanting to miss a single thing. It was different to seeing their faces in pictures, Harry noted. In Wizarding photographs, although the subjects moved, there was no real life in them. They were simply moments in a life, captured on film, that were replaying on the paper; nothing more. They contained memories, not reality. The Mirror of Erised was different, however. Now, Harry observed as his mother looked longingly into his eyes, their green depths conveying so much love that Harry felt his heart ache with grief. His father was waving at him, not excitedly, but almost tentatively as if he was afraid that Harry would disappear any minute.

Harry reluctantly dragged his eyes away from them to examine his Godfather, and found that, just as he had wanted, Sirius was smiling at Harry, his eyes sparkling as he gazed into Harry's eyes just as hungrily as Harry was staring back.

"Sirius..." whispered Harry as he walked slowly over to the glass and placed a shaking hand to the cold surface. His Godfather mirrored his movements, and Harry watched as their hands connected, separated only by the mirror. Separated by reality, Harry realised.

"NO!" Harry cried suddenly and he immediately pulled his hand away as if the surface had suddenly become white hot. "You're dead! You're all...dead..."

His breath hitched as he looked wildly into the worried expressions on the images of the three people in front of him.

But they could not comfort him.

With a dawning understanding that threatened to devastate him as easily as if he was watching their deaths once again, he realised that they could not hug him, hold him or tell him that everything would be alright. They could not help him now, because they were not real.

Anger rose up in Harry, and suddenly he wanted to destroy the mirror, and demolish the image that was only tempting him with a life that he knew would never come true. To his right, Harry saw a sledge hammer appear, and it seemed that the room had granted his wish once again.

He took the heavy hammer in his hands, weighing it up as he looked once more at the image that had been conjured by the dangerous object that had taunted him so many years ago. They were scared, he noticed, but Harry also saw a hint of understanding in their expressions. No matter how much he had wanted to see that understanding, however, he knew that they were merely reflections; ghosts of a past that had been cruelly taken from him, never to be returned.

Guilt, horror and grief rose up in him, and with a cry of anguish, Harry raised the hammer high and swung it down, smashing it straight into the centre of the mirror as hard as he could. His own reflection shattered, and the surface exploded in a rain of glass, smattering Harry with shards. Harry didn't try to protect himself, nor did he care when he was cut by some of the larger pieces.

Harry stood unmoving as he stared at the shattered mirror, his breathing hitched again as grief overloaded his senses. The images of his parents and Godfather were shattered into oblivion, and Harry was alone in the room once more, surrounded by the broken glass of a dream that he could never have.

* * *

><p>Professor Dumbledore had awoken unusually early that morning, tortured throughout the night with images of a younger Harry cowering in fear, asking him for help, and begging Albus to protect him. In the nightmares, Albus had just stood by and watched, his mind preventing him from doing anything to help.<p>

He had done nothing as Vernon Dursley took a swing at the unhealthily skinny boy, even as his mind screamed out in fury at the action. He had watched passively, but with intense horror, as blood began to stream out of the child's nose. In the nightmare, even as powerful as he was, he had not stopped the child from being hurt.

During one particularly bad nightmare, in which Dumbledore was forced to watch as a very young Harry had tried unsuccessfully to defend himself against his Uncle, the young boy had turned to the horrified Headmaster, his face still bloodied up. His large green eyes had looked impossibly sad, as he said, _"Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you help me?"_

Now, fully awake, on his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Albus Dumbledore still didn't know. For, in truth, the nightmare was no dream; it was the reality of Harry's life. For years, Harry had been crying out for help and protection, and Albus had never provided it. Harry had grown into a fine young man, but he had done so alone, and a part of Albus grieved for the child that they had all lost when, in their stupidity and ignorance, they had refused to see the truth.

Dumbledore remembered, with no small amount of pride, the conversation he had had with Harry yesterday. The boy still continued to surprise him with his courage and maturity. When he had finally admitted to the horrors that he had faced at the hands of his relatives, Harry had been brave and strong, even though it was clearly a subject that still affected him a great deal. And when the worst was revealed, instead of searching for comfort from the Professor, as perhaps should have been expected, Harry had comforted Albus instead, had reassured him that everything would be alright. The wise words that had come out of the teenager's mouth had been so surprising that Albus had been momentarily speechless, but what was even more shocking was the way in which their roles had reversed yesterday. When had Harry turned into this young man, wise far beyond his years?

Lost in his thoughts, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, fully expecting to be the first one to arrive. He was surprised, therefore to see the unmistakable figure of Harry, sitting at the large table in the centre of the room, his head lying in his arms.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore, but the teenager made no movement to suggest that he had heard. More concerned now, Dumbledore strode quickly over to Harry, finally getting close enough to see that Harry was dressed in ratty pyjamas and that blood and cuts seemed to cover his arms. Relief flooded through Albus when he realised that the cuts did not appear to be self inflicted, but worry could not escape him as he wondered what on Earth _had _caused them.

_What had happened?_

"Harry?" Dumbledore repeated, and this time he was rewarded when Harry's head began to rise. Dumbledore was greeted with the sight of those same unique green eyes that had haunted his dreams last night, and for a moment Albus was silent as he saw Harry become more aware of his surroundings. The teenager's eyes darted around the room quickly, before they eventually fell upon his Professor. Although covered somewhat by the large round glasses on his face, they were obviously ringed in red, and surrounded by huge black bags.

It was clear to Albus, that he wasn't the only one who had had an uneasy night.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, although it was obvious to both of them that he wasn't.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied quietly, studiously avoiding eye contact with the Headmaster. Harry didn't mention the Mirror of Erised; he didn't even want to _think_ about that at the moment.

"Nightmares?" asked Dumbledore sympathetically, and Harry nodded, too emotionally drained to deny it.

"I suffer from quite a few myself on occasion," Dumbledore said casually, and Harry looked at him surprised that his Headmaster had made the admission.

"Do you know what helps me when I have a difficult night?" asked the Headmaster, and Harry shook his head as he waited for the answer.

"Hot chocolate and a chat," Dumbledore replied cheerfully. "Shall we?"

What Harry wanted more than anything was actually a dreamless sleep potion and his bed, but he knew that Dumbledore was trying to make amends for his past mistakes, and Harry decided he would let someone try to help him for once.

* * *

><p>"Have you ever been to the kitchens, Harry?" asked Dumbledore as they left the Great Hall, and upon glancing at Harry and seeing a very sheepish expression on the teenager's face, despite the pain that was still there, he didn't need to hear a reply to know the answer.<p>

"My, you do get around," Dumbledore said lightly with a knowing look, his eyes twinkling wildly as they both made their way quietly through the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

They continued on in silence then. It was clear to the Headmaster that something had happened; something that had caused Harry to lose any confidence he had gained since arriving here this summer. Harry had reverted back to the state he had been immediately after Sirius' death, and Dumbledore was determined to get to the bottom of it. Yesterday, Harry had asked for his help, and the Headmaster was certainly not going to deny him now, not when he so clearly needed it.

When they finally reached the supposedly secret entrance to the kitchens, Dumbledore's previous suspicions were confirmed when Harry himself tickled the pear, before walking slowly inside.

They sat quietly at a bench, as House elves swarmed around then, each clamouring to have the honour of serving the Headmaster and the 'Great Harry Potter'. Dumbledore immediately quietened them, simply asking Winky, who was nearest to them, to bring them two hot chocolates and a plate of biscuits.

As they waited to be served, Dumbledore took a moment to observe the student sat unresponsively in front of him. Harry looked exhausted and drained, oblivious to the cuts of his arms and hands. Dumbledore knew that the emotional pain Harry was undoubtedly feeling was unlikely to be anything that could be fixed with hot chocolate, but the least he could do was heal Harry's physical wounds.

He stood up and walked over to Harry, gently lifting the teenager's arms. Harry was surprised by the action, his mind obviously elsewhere, but Dumbledore continued undeterred. He lifted his wand, and muttered a simple healing charm, nodding in satisfaction as the wounds sealed and the blood vanished from Harry's pale skin.

"What happened, my boy?" asked Dumbledore gently, placing a hand carefully on Harry's shoulder.

At that casual, and yet unexpected, display of affection, Harry completely broke down.

His emotions were already extremely close to the surface after what had occurred early this morning, and all of a sudden he found that the haunting experience of the mirror of Erised was spilling out of him now. He told the professor of his hopes of seeing his parents and Sirius, and the devastation he had felt when he realised that those hopes hadn't come true. He kept his eyes fixed on the table as he related his grief and anger at the room for what it had given him, and what it had taken away from him again.

In all the time that Harry was talking, Dumbledore's hand never left Harry's shoulder. As he had neared the end of his tale, Dumbledore had felt Harry begin to shake, obviously trying in vain to suppress his tears and grief. Dumbledore felt as if his heart was about to break yet again.

"Harry, there is no shame in what you are feeling," Dumbledore said gently, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder and bringing it to the distraught teenager's face, lifting his chin so that their eyes could meet. "As I have told you before, the fact that you feel it at all is your greatest strength."

"It's not strength! It's weakness! I'm weak!" Harry cried, shrugging away from the Professor's touch. "I should be able to get over it- it's not like it's going to change anything anyway! I was stupid to think I'd see them again. They're dead! I should just accept it and move on!"

Dumbledore looked at the boy who was rapidly losing control in front of him, and his heart cried with the injustice of it all. This boy, who had lost more than any of them, was still suffering now. Albus' mind, heart and soul urged him to help the teen who had clearly always felt as if he was alone. Dumbledore wanted to make sure that Harry knew that he was never alone, and never would be again.

"I lost my younger sister," Dumbledore told Harry after a brief pause, realising that the emotional scars that Harry was suffering from had affected him much more than any of them had realised.

Harry looked up at this, momentarily forgetting his grief, surprised that the Professor was revealing something so obviously personal and difficult to him.

"She was a troubled child," Dumbledore continued sadly, talking slowly in a bid to control his emotions that were still so painful, even after all these years. "She always favoured my brother, Aberforth, more than me, but she was a light in my life that I have not experienced since the day I lost her."

Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing with his tale, as an enraptured Harry hung on to every word, "I was only a young man at the time, but I was foolish- far more so than you could ever be, my dear boy. I neglected her, focusing on my studies and plans, rather than caring for her as I should have."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, not with their usual mirth, but with unshed tears. He stared off into space, clearly lost in the memory.

"I loved her Harry, but when she died, I felt as if I myself would rather die than live with the pain of her loss. I blamed myself for her death, not undeservedly I might add," Dumbledore continued sadly and Harry had nothing to say to this, so clear was the guilt upon Dumbledore's face.

"I will always miss her, Harry, but the fact that she was in my life, even for the short time that I knew her, made all the pain of loss worth it. _She_ was worth it." To Harry's upmost surprise, despite the tears that had begun the escape his Professor's light blue eyes, Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"It was, and is, love, Harry. I have never completely moved past her death, but I will never forget what joy she brought into my life as well. You must honour Sirius by remembering the love you felt for him, rather than the pain of losing him. It is no weakness, Harry, to have felt love. It is a strength far beyond anything which Voldemort could ever possess. It is the reason we fight. It is the reason we live."

Harry looked into the bright blue eyes of his Professor, still sparkling with the unshed tears that had pooled during his tale, and Harry noticed his own eyes start to become wet as he felt the emotion that was coming off Dumbledore in waves. For the first time since Sirius had died, Harry allowed himself to grieve. He put his head in his arms, protecting his face and he cried.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore didn't move from Harry's side as the teenager wept for everything that he had been suppressing. The intensity of the emotion that was escaping from Harry at the moment suggested that it was not just his Godfather he was grieving for, and Dumbledore felt his own tears escape as he himself grieved for the life that the teenager had been denied.<p>

The tears were quiet and the only sign of any emotion at all were Harry's shaking limbs. When he finally lifted his head, Harry's eyes were red, and his expression clearly showed embarrassment, but Dumbledore quickly made to dismiss this.

"Harry, there is no shame in finally allowing yourself to grieve," Dumbledore said kindly, patting him gently on the shoulder.

"Perhaps, you should try to get some more sleep," he continued when Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "I fear we could both use it."

Harry stood up then and made a move towards the door, clearly desperate to escape from the scene of his embarrassment. He stopped short however, and turned to face Dumbledore, the signs of emotion still clear on his face.

"Can I have some dreamless sleep potion, Sir," Harry asked quietly, reluctantly making eye contact with his Professor.

"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a small smile. "I'll have a house-elf send one up to your dormitory."

Harry walked towards the door again, but he turned around one final time to face his Professor

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said quietly, and it was clear to Dumbledore that the teenager was referring to so much more than a simple potion.

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><p>Harry left then, eager to be on his own once more. He had to admit though, that Dumbledore had been right. Although it still hurt to think of Sirius, he did feel slightly better after his somewhat embarrassing breakdown; as if something had been released from deep within him. Now, however, as exhaustion crept up on him once again, all he wanted to do was sleep.<p>

Only an hour later, Harry awoke slowly from the deepest sleep he had had in months, trying to shrug the remnants of sleep from his consciousness. Something wasn't right though. He had taken dreamless sleep; he shouldn't be awake yet...

"- Harry, wake up..."

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a pale, panicking face directly above him.

"Professor Lupin? Wha-"

"Harry, you need to come with me," his old Professor interrupted.

"Why?" asked Harry, as panic flooded into him, "What's happened?"

"There's been an attack," Lupin replied.

"Where?" Harry asked with a distinct sense of foreboding, all sleepiness evaporating almost immediately.

"The Burrow."

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><p>AN- Thanks for reading and as always, let me know what you thought of it! The next update won't be for at least a week, but hopefully it should be worth it- I've got a very action packed chapter planned, but until then, I hope you enjoyed this one, and leave me a review if you've got time!

Coming up... _Chapter 11: Weasley Woe_


	11. Weasley Woe

**A/N- **Okay so here's another chapter (finally!). Sorry for the wait! It was finished much later than I'd hoped or planned, but in my defence, in this fic I really wanted to explore the thoughts and feelings of _other_ characters as well, instead of focusing solely on Harry. In this chapter, we finally see the Weasleys, but I must say I had a lot of problems trying to get inside Molly's head. She's a difficult character to write fairly- I didn't want her to seem _too_ motherly/overprotective of her family (she has lived through a war already so I reckon she knows a bit about the realities of it). On the other hand, I didn't want her to accept the 'new' Harry too easily because it just wouldn't fit with her character. Hopefully, I got the balance right. Anyway, nevermind that now- on with the story!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: <strong>Weasley Woe

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><p><em>I've been worryin',<em>

_That my time is a little unclear._

_I've been worryin', _

_That I'm losing the ones I hold dear._

_I've been worryin',_

_That we all, live our lives, in the confines of fear._

'_**The Fear', Ben Howard**_

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><p>As Molly quietly made her way up the path to the Burrow, long after the latest Order meeting had concluded, she had to make a special effort to prevent the tears that she knew had already formed behind her eyes from falling.<p>

_That poor boy..._

When she had first seen Harry at the Order meeting, she had been surprised, not necessarily by him, but by everyone else's reaction to him. Even Bill had steadfastly avoided her eyes when Harry had first arrived, late and embarrassed. She knew that her eldest was extremely over-protective (a trait he had picked up from her, no doubt), so she was confused by how easily he and other others seemed to accept Harry's presence.

Now, however, she understood.

And it was because of that understanding that she was currently trying to control her emotions as she walked into the Burrow, following her husband as he entered the living room to check on Ron and Ginny.

Now she knew that she had to try to see Harry as the man he was, rather than the child he had never really been allowed to be.

She and Arthur had been asked to stay behind by Albus to discuss her reservations about Harry's attendance in the meeting. At first, Molly had expected Dumbledore to simply list a number of reasons why he was right, and why, although her 'heart was in the right place', she was wrong. She had heard it before many times, especially when she had begged to have Harry stay at the Burrow instead of with those beastly relatives of his. Each time, her arguments had gone unnoticed or had been dismissed, but tonight she had been determined to not back down. Harry was a child. He needed their help and protection. It was as simple as that.

Once she had sent the kids off to bed, she sat down heavily on the sofa, sighing as she shook her head; nothing was ever that simple. Harry was still only fifteen, almost sixteen; in the eyes of the law, he _was_ still a child. But after what he had been through...

_That poor boy._

When she and Arthur had gone to Dumbledore after the meeting, both had been surprised by how grave and troubled their leader looked. He looked like a doctor would look as they broke the news of the loss of a loved one in a hospital corridor. He looked as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And when he showed them the memory, the same one that the Order members had seen earlier that evening, she realised why.

Now as she sat here in near darkness, listening as her husband bustled around the kitchen, she thought about the boy who was as much a part of their family as any one of her children. Harry had never known his own parents, and occasionally, whenever he had stayed at their home, she had caught him looking at her and Arthur curiously, as if trying to work something out; as if he truly didn't understand the concept of parents at all. He had gotten better at hiding it over the years, but the look of longing on Harry's face as a young, thin twelve year old was hard for Molly to forget. She had promised herself, there and then, that she would do everything she could to make Harry feel welcome in their family. Their house might be full, but their hearts would always have room to welcome him.

She was torn however, because she honestly loved that boy, but it was clear to her now that he didn't need a mother to protect him. It was too late for that in Harry's life, and Molly cursed the Dursleys once again as she finally realised that their treatment meant that not only would he not expect or ask for her concerns, but he also wouldn't know what to do with them, even if he did happen to receive them. She didn't like it, but for his sake, she would do her best to let him go his own way, whilst also ensuring that he knew he always had them to fall back on when he needed them.

She made her way up to bed then, unable to think further about a subject over which she had no control. As she climbed into bed, she couldn't help but be proud of the boy her youngest son had befriended all those years ago. If only Harry could understand how much they all cared about him. He was practically a Weasley, no matter what his hair colour was.

She wearily lay her head on her pillow, her mind filled with thoughts of another red-headed women, and what she would want for her only son.

When the first scream reverberated around the Burrow, Molly was awakened from dreams of family.

* * *

><p>"Remus," Harry asked, slightly out of breath from the fast pace they were both walking at. "What happened? Is everyone alright? The Weasleys – "<p>

"I don't know, Harry," replied Lupin gravely, as they turned into the corridor that would lead them to Dumbledore's office. "We had no warning before the attack. Albus is there now, along with most of the Order. They'll be alright, Harry."

Harry wasn't convinced. He hadn't missed the extremely anxious and worried expression on Lupin's face, nor the frantic looks he kept shooting in Harry's direction. There was something Remus was hiding from him...

"Sherbet Lemon," said Lupin, breaking into Harry's anxious thoughts. They had reached Dumbledore's office, and Harry felt fear rise up in him as they made their way up the winding staircase. He paused slightly before they walked through the door; he simply didn't know what to expect. Were the Weasleys alright? Was someone hurt, or... Harry couldn't even think about the worst case scenario, he thought he'd break down if he did. Guilt lingered on his mind, as he thought of all the possible reasons for this attack, but it all led back to one thought; the Weasleys must have been attacked because of him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Lupin, pausing on the threshold of Dumbledore's office.

Harry just nodded mutely in reply, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the worst as he forced himself to enter the room.

Dumbledore's office was empty of the people Harry had been desperate to see; the only occupant of the room was Fawkes, and he was currently looking at Harry with an expression of such sadness that Harry had to turn away before he lost control and broke down. Why weren't they here yet? What was keeping them?

Harry sat down wearily in one of the chairs opposite Dumbledore's cluttered desk, dropping his head into his hands as he sighed.

He simply couldn't escape it.

They were in the thick of war. People were being tortured. People were being killed. The Weasleys could be suffering even as he sat here right now. They could even have been suffering early this morning as Harry had been crying over parents he would never know.

As sad and unfair as it was, Harry realised that he simply did not have the luxury of self-pity or grief. It was up to him to stop all the devastation, and if this attack had taught him anything, it was that he couldn't bear to lose anyone else; he _wouldn't _lose anyone else. To focus on the things he had lost would be disastrous for the things he could lose in the future. He had to focus on what was important now, not what had been important in the past. He would never be able to get Sirius or his parents back, no matter how much he grieved for them, and although he would never get over their deaths completely, Harry knew that Dumbledore was right; he should remember the good and simply move on.

"Remus, why are you here?" Harry asked tentatively, worried by the fact that Remus had not lifted his head from his hands since the moment they first arrived in Dumbledore's office. "Why aren't you at the Burrow with the Order?"

Lupin finally looked up at this, his anxiousness clear on his face.

"Dumbledore was worried –" Lupin began, but Harry found he didn't need to hear any more. He could guess what Dumbledore had been thinking.

"He was worried that I'd seen it happen," said Harry glumly. "He thought I might have had another vision..."

Remus just nodded in reply.

"I didn't," Harry said to answer the unasked question. "I took a dreamless sleep potion before I went to sleep."

Silence followed his statement, because really, there was nothing else to say.

Would it have been better if he had seen it?

_I'd know what was happening,_ Harry thought desperately. _I'd know if they were ok, at least. _But even as that thought entered his mind, a more terrible thought took its place.

_I might have seen them in pain...or dead..._

Harry forced himself to censor his thoughts, not wanting to dwell on that terrible possibility. However, even as he convinced himself that they would be ok, that Weasleys were tough, Harry couldn't prevent himself from feeling guilty.

"They were attacked because of me, weren't they?" Harry asked Remus quietly as they both waited anxiously waited for news.

"Of course not, Harry," replied Remus forcefully, although his gaze was focused on his hands rather than Harry. "The Weasley's are well-known 'blood traitors'. And with Arthur's position in the Ministry, well... we should have expected something like this."

Remus had said all this without a trace of a lie in his voice, but Harry had noticed that the ex-Professor was avoiding making eye contact. Again, Harry was struck by the feeling that Lupin was keeping something from him. It was clear from his expression that he wasn't telling Harry the whole story behind the attack.

Harry was about to confront Lupin out loud, when the Floo suddenly flared to life. Harry and Lupin quickly jumped up, just in time to catch the first person to come through.

"Ginny!"

She swung her arms round Harry's neck, and clung to him somewhat desperately. Harry barely had time to acknowledge this, or even try to comfort her, before she was closely followed by her brother, Ron. Ron looked slightly worse for wear; there was a gash on his forehead that was freely leaking blood and he was holding his arm close to his chest in a grimace of pain.

"Harry?" asked Ron, his face white with shock, contrasting with the bright red blood to create a deathly, haunting image. "What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that," replied Harry dismissively. "Are you alright? What happened?"

The desperation for news was clear in his voice, and it was perhaps this that finally brought Ginny to her senses, as she finally realised that she was currently clinging to her brother's best friend instead of her brother. She flinched unexpectedly away from him, leading Harry to give her a somewhat confused and yet hurt look.

He dismissed her out of character appearance as shock from the attack and allowed his mind to revert back to its most pressing concern; what had happened?

"Ron?"

Ron, who had been staring into space, clearly still in shock, looked up at Harry's words.

"Death Eaters," he replied hoarsely. "The Order came, but..."

"Was anyone...hurt?" Harry asked tentatively when it was clear that Ron wasn't going to elaborate.

"Dad," replied Ginny quietly, reluctant to look up at Harry, "they attacked him first. He was...tortured."

"Tortured...?"

Ginny was spared from explaining further when the fireplace flared again. Remus, who had so far been quiet since the arrivals of the two youngest Weasleys, moved quickly to the fireplace, clearly eager for a more complete report from an Order member, or even Dumbledore himself.

However, it was not the Headmaster who arrived through the fireplace, but his deputy, Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva," said Remus, jumping in quickly before the Weasleys had a chance to enquire after their parents, "where's Albus? What's happened?"

"Everyone is alright, Remus," she said gravely, and Remus looked visibly relieved at the news. "There was a short battle, and we managed to save the Burrow. There was some damage, but nothing we can't fix. One of the attackers was killed but the others escaped."

"Dad...?" interjected Ginny anxiously.

"Your father is alive, Miss Weasley," replied McGonagall, "if a little worse for wear. They flooed him directly to the Hospital Wing so that he could get treatment quickly."

"Treatment..." whispered Ron, shaking his head as if he couldn't even understand the word.

"Mum? Bill?" continued Ginny rapidly.

"They're fine," reassured McGonagall. "They're with your father in the Hospital Wing. Your mother would like you to join them."

She had barely finished speaking before both Ron and Ginny turned quickly and practically ran out of the door to be with their family. Harry, however, remained seated.

"She asked for you too, Mr Potter," McGonagall said softly, when it became clear that Harry had no intention of getting up.

"Why?" asked Harry, confused as to why she would want to see him, when it was clearly a time for family.

"You may not have red hair, Harry" said Remus, "but there is no doubt in my mind that you are as much a Weasley as the rest of them."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, but he did move slowly towards the door and down the staircase into the corridor. He had been reminded yet again of the close ties between the Weasleys and their willingness to include him in that. The last time had been in the hospital after Nagini had attacked Mr Weasley. On that occasion, he had been thanked for saving Mr Weasleys life. Now, however, Harry couldn't help but think that his involvement in their family this time had nearly cost them their lives instead.

* * *

><p>When he finally entered the Hospital Wing he was confronted by what could only be described as chaos. There were Order members everywhere, some lying injured on beds, others trying to find treatment for those injuries. Madame Pomfrey was running around somewhat erratically, trying to treat several people at once, whilst also trying to reassure people that she was completely in control.<p>

Harry caught a glimpse of Moody in one corner, bent over a bed and in deep discussions with Kingsley, who was searching the occupant of the bed with no amount of care whatsoever. Harry suspected that this was one of the attackers; the one who had been killed rather than one of the ones that had been able to escape. Harry felt his anger rise at Voldemort and all his followers for the pain they had put his friends through. His heart began to beat loudly in his chest and he had to take a deep breath and look away before he lost complete control of his emotions.

As he turned away, he caught sight of a mass of red hair all gathered around a bed near the centre of the room. Harry moved slowly over to them, and despite what Remus had told him, was still reluctant to impose on the family.

Mrs Weasley spotted him though, and brought him immediately into a bone crushing hug, one he felt he didn't deserve.

"Harry, dear," she said gently, "are you alright?"

"M'fine, Mrs Weasley," Harry muttered, his voice slightly muffled as she held tightly to him.

As she finally released him, Harry was able to get a better look what condition the Weasleys were in. Mrs Weasley's hair was ruffled and her clothes slightly torn, but otherwise she seemed ok. Bill was standing beside Ginny, offering what little comfort he could by holding her shoulder gently. Other than a small graze on his face, he seemed fine as well. Then Harry's eyes turned to Mr Weasley, and his breath hitched as he took in the pale, almost deathly pallor of the Weasley patriarch's face. If it hadn't been for the fact that his eyes were wide open and moving, Harry would have believed him to be dead.

He tore his eyes away, unable to stand the guilt that was starting to overwhelm him.

Dumbledore entered the room, and immediately the bustling crowd still jostling throughout the Hospital Wing quietened, further reminding Harry of the power the man held. The old man's eyes moved quickly around the room until he spotted the Weasleys, striding over to them in a manner that belied his age.

"Arthur, what happened?" asked Dumbledore gravely, as he reached the congregation of Weasleys.

Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself, wincing in pain as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position.

"I was late for work," he began, steadying himself by grasping the hand of his wife. "I dread to think what would've happened if I had already gone..." His voice trailed off, and Harry noticed that his hand had gone white from the grip Mrs Weasley had on it.

"I was just leaving the wards so that I could Apparate into work, but something was wrong. The wards...someone had tampered with them. Everyone else was still asleep, so when I heard talking coming from within the boundaries I knew someone had breached them."

"Wait," Harry interrupted confused about something, "what wards?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Mr Weasley sadly, "it was supposed to be a surprise."

"We were trying to make the Burrow safe enough for you to come and stay with us for the rest of the summer," continued Mrs Weasley tentatively.

And there it was; the reason that Remus had been unable to look him in the eye. It _was _his fault, Harry thought.

They had been trying to make it so that he could stay with them, and all it had done was heap unknown pain and devastation on their family.

"Stop it, Harry" said Ginny, noticing the expression on his face, and reading where his thoughts must have been going, "it wasn't your fault. We are the biggest blood traitors possible; we would have been attacked regardless." The strength of her sincerity shook Harry for a moment, and he found himself nodding without even being aware of it. Before he had time to fully comprehend what had just happened, Mr Weasley continued his tale once again.

"There were at least ten of them. I was about to send a Patronus to the Order, when one of them spotted me. They looked like Death Eaters, but I can't be sure. I had my wand out, but I was only able to get one spell off before they hit me with a cutting hex. I don't remember much after that; my memory of it comes and goes.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, clearly frustrated with himself.

"They tortured me," he continued through gritted teeth, as he remembered the pain they had put him through. "They kept trying to get me to give up Harry."

Harry felt another guilty pang pierce his heart as he heard the truth about the reasons for the attack. They had been looking for him.

Arthur made another effort to sit up, possibly in an attempt to reassure Harry that it wasn't his fault, but it seemed that for now his strength had failed him, and as he groaned in pain, Mrs Weasley put a hand on his shoulder to steady her husband before continuing with the tale herself.

"We heard the...screams. We – all of us – ran outside to try to help...to fight."

She took a deep steadying breath and said, "Arthur was already on the ground, and the attackers were stood around him; I don't think they knew what to do next."

"Amateurs then," said Moody gruffly. "Must either be new to Voldemort's ranks, or eager to get into them."

"That one," Moody continued, nodding his head towards the dead attacker, "used to work for the Ministry. Lower-level stuff really, but we need to be prepared for Voldemort to try to mount a Ministry takeover. Where he came from, they'll be others."

Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement before addressing the Weasley matriarch once again. "What happened next, Molly."

"Bill and I confronted the attackers," she replied. "I shouted at Ron to get Ginny to Hogwarts, but one of the attackers saw them."

"We held him off," continued Ron, "but his spell missed and hit the table. One of the splinters flew up and got me in the face. Stupid really, but I dropped my wand."

"Con – " began Moody.

"Not now Mad-eye," hushed Tonks.

"If it hadn't been for Bill," said Ron, continuing as if Moody had not spoken, "I'd probably be dead. He came in and just took him out." Ron followed this with a nod towards the occupied bed that Moody and Kingsley had been so focused on before.

"I sent a Patronus after that to alert the Order," interjected Bill, who brought a hand to his face rather gingerly, and completely avoided looking at the dead man on the bed only metres from his position. "There was a battle, but once Dumbledore arrived, they realised they were outnumbered, and they apparated away."

"Do we know anything else?" asked Kingsley, with a significant look to Dumbledore.

"Severus had not been told of the attack," replied Dumbledore, immediately understanding what the Auror was asking him. "Either it was indeed an amateur attempt, or Voldemort has chosen not to confide in Severus for some reason."

Dumbledore looked across the faces in the room, before landing his gaze on Harry with a troubled expression on his face. "Either way, there is nothing we can do about it now, not until we have more information. Molly, Arthur, you and your family are best staying at Hogwarts for the time being. It may not be safe for you to return to the Burrow at the moment."

Mrs Weasley glanced at her husband before nodding reluctantly. After this, the impromptu Order meeting broke up as medical attention was once again sought. Dumbledore didn't leave however, instead turning his attention to Harry.

"Harry," Dumbledore said sadly, looking towards the teenager, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, determination beginning to show in his expression.

And Harry meant it too. He would fight to the death for each and every one of them, not because he felt guilty, but because they truly meant too much for him to lose them. He pushed his guilt to one side, realising once again, that not only would it be of no use to him, but it would hinder him as much as his grief would. Just as he didn't have the luxury of time to grieve, nor did he have the luxury of guilt.

* * *

><p>The week following the attack on the Burrow was surprisingly quiet. There was no word from Voldemort, and there hadn't been any further attacks that the Order was aware of. Snape hadn't been summoned since that morning, and everything had seemed to settle down after the chaos of moving all the Weasleys into Hogwarts.<p>

Mr and Mrs Weasley had been given the Gryffindor Head Boy's room to stay in, and Bill and Ron were to join Harry in the Sixth Year's Dormitory. Harry had been worried about this arrangement at first, anxious that his nightmares would lead to a lot interrupted nights for the Weasley siblings. After a quiet word with Dumbledore, however, he had been quickly reassured that he could continue to take Dreamless sleep potion, as long as he took a break from it every three days so that he didn't become addicted or build up an immunity to it. It wasn't ideal, but since the rest of the rooms in Gryffindor tower had been taken by Order members, and Harry had no desire to camp out in the Slytherin House, it was the only solution they had.

Since the castle's new occupants had arrived, things had returned to a somewhat normal routine. Ron, Harry and Ginny spent most of their time either playing chess or practising Quidditch, with the older Weasleys doing a lot of work for the Order. Harry didn't know if he's be allowed to play again next year, but even in his worse moods he couldn't turn down the opportunity to fly again.

"Charlie said he's coming to visit today," Ron said casually as they got up one morning, almost an entire week since the attack. Harry had enjoyed having his best friend with him once again, and was grateful for the fact that Ron haven't thought it necessary to pressure him into talking about his feelings. He knew that his friend had been curious about why Harry was living at Hogwarts instead of with the Dursleys, but Harry didn't want to talk about that now, not with so much else going on, and he was thankful that Ron seemed to understand and respect that.

"Quidditch game?" said Harry with a grin, catching on. "Seeker vs. Seeker."

"Charlie won't know what's hit him!" said Ron, as they both got dressed, excited for the day ahead.

* * *

><p>Once he was in the air, on his faithful Firebolt, all the problems Harry had been worried about this summer seemed to fade into insignificance.<p>

Charlie had jumped at the chance to compete against the newest star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and when word spread around, somehow Bill and the twins heard about it and insisted they be included. What was supposed to be a Seeker vs. Seeker competition turned very quickly into a full-blooded Quidditch match. Even Remus had volunteered to go in goal for one team, in order to make them more evenly matched. He joined Bill, Charlie and Ginny on one side, with Harry, the twins and Ron on the other. At the moment, Harry's team were winning by ten, but neither he nor Charlie had spotted the snitch yet.

Getting slightly nervous by the lack of appearances by the Snitch, and feeling rather reckless, Harry decided to vent his frustrations by attempting a dive, hoping to catch Charlie out.

Before he could start properly though, his broom gave a sudden lurch, instantly reminding Harry of his first ever Quidditch game. His instincts screamed at him to get help. He was in trouble.

"Ron!" Harry yelled to the lanky keeper. "Call a time out, and get help! Something's wron – "

"Harry!" Ron cried as Harry's broom gave another terrifying lurch, almost unseating him. By this point the other Weasleys had noticed something was wrong and were quickly flying over to Harry to help out. Before they could reach him however, his broom took off away from the pitch, heading straight towards the Forbidden Forest.

"Shit!" Harry yelled as he realised he had lost control of his ride. "It's not me! Someone's cursing the broom." _And this time, there's no Snape to mutter the counter curse, _thought Harry.

Realising that he was too far off the ground to simply jump off and land safely, and also realising that the Weasleys were not going to be able to reach him in time, a plan began to form in Harry's mind out of complete desperation.

"Bill!" Harry cried. "Do you know the _'Aresto Momentum'_ spell?"

At Bill's confused and yet immediate nod, Harry took a deep breath to prepare himself. They had nearly reached the edge of the forest, and whoever it was who was cursing his broom was clearly waiting for him in the forest's dark depths, so he knew he didn't have long.

"Then get ready!" he yelled, and without any more warning, he swung his legs from under his broom, and jumped into the air. Bill barely had time to pull out his wand and do the spell before Harry found himself hurtling rapidly towards the ground. Harry vaguely heard Bill yell out the spell, but even as he felt the effects of the spell pull on his body to slow him down, he knew it was too late.

Harry hit the grassy ground hard with a thud, his eyes closing as unconsciousness overcame him.

* * *

><p>AN- So there it is. Not my best chapter, I'm afraid, and if you've got any problems with it, let me know; I won't be offended, and some constructive criticism might actually do me some good. A slight cliff hanger at the end, but I'm on Easter holiday from Uni at the moment, so (*fingers crossed*) the next update shouldn't take as long. Until then, any chance of a review? I would really like to know what people think of my story so far. Until next time, thanks for reading!

Coming up... _Chapter 12: Birthday Surprises_


	12. Birthday Surprises

**A/N- **Hi everyone! After the trouble I had writing the last chapter, I think I'm finally back on track. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited or alerted this story! It means a lot to me that people seem to like what I'm doing. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: <strong>Birthday Surprises

* * *

><p><em>Children waitin' for the day they feel good.<em>

_Happy birthday, happy birthday._

_Made to feel the way that every child should,_

_Sit and listen, sit and listen._

'_**Mad World,' Tears For Fears**_

* * *

><p>When Harry finally began to wake up, the first thing he was aware of was a dull throbbing pain in his head and shoulder. Cautiously, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly at the bright light of the room he found himself in. Wherever he was, it had white walls. Harry shook his head slightly, trying to think of the last thing he could remember. He had been on his broom, about to attempt a dive...<p>

_Shit, _Harry thought, panicking as he remembered what had happened next. Had Bill done the spell in time, or had the attackers succeeded in managing to kidnap him?

He blinked again, and cursed his bad eyesight once again. If only he had his glasses, he would be able to find out where he was. Feeling around his immediate area, Harry noticed that he was lying in a fairly soft bed. Realising that there was a table next to the bed, he reached over and felt around, recognising the cool metal of his glasses, and the long thin wood of his wand lying right next to it.

He grabbed both and quickly shoved the glasses on his head as he heard the sound of someone moving towards him. He swung round to face the noise, pointing his wand at the potential threat...

"Mr Potter!"

"Oh," said Harry, somewhat sheepishly, "Sorry Professor McGonagall."

"Mr Potter," she began, "that is the second time recently that you have pointed a wand at me. Anyone would think that you didn't like me."

She said this in her usual stern tone, but there was a slight smile on her face that told Harry that she wasn't being entirely serious. He apologised again regardless, his wand falling limply to his side. Now that the immediate threat had gone, Harry's headache became more pronounced, and he grimaced as he glanced towards his Professor, not missing the worried look on her face.

"Professor," he said quietly, "What happened?"

"Don't you remember?" she asked gently.

"I remember flying, and I remember falling, but after that..."

"Mr Weasley – Bill - managed to slow your decent, but you were too close to the ground. You were knocked out, and you managed to break your shoulder."

Harry brought his right hand towards his left shoulder, moving it tentatively to test its movement. It had been somewhat numb when he had first woken up, but as he moved it pain shot up through the area. The grimace of pain was not missed by his Head of House.

"Mr Potter," she said, looking at him from above her glasses, "what on earth possessed you to jump?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Harry said defensively. "Someone was cursing my broom. Whoever it was who was trying to kidnap me was pulling me towards to forest! I was too high up and I was going too fast. They wouldn't have got to me in time. I had no choice but to jump!"

"Calm down, Mr Potter," said a new voice that had snuck up behind him. "Someone in your fragile shape shouldn't be getting so worked up. Minerva, I expected better from you."

Harry looked around, scowling as he recognised the white nurse uniform worn by Madame Pomfrey. It wasn't that he didn't like the school nurse- she had always been very nice to him – but he had never seen her in normal circumstances; he only ever saw her when he was injured, so it was no wonder that he didn't greet her presence with any particular enthusiasm.

"I feel fine," Harry said moodily. He had always hated being in the Hospital Wing, and the more time he spent here, the more he despised it.

"Poppy," McGonagall replied, "I'm sorry, but we needed to know what happened."

Madame Pomfrey, however, didn't seem to agree. Instead, she simply pursed her lips, and gave Harry a number of different disgusting looking potions to take, which he did without complaint, not wanting to anger the Medi-Witch further.

Once he had swallowed the last disgusting concoction, she left them alone, still muttering about 'reckless' students, and 'dangerous sports'.

"So," began Harry, trying to change the subject, "where is everyone?"

"Professor Dumbledore sent them to get something to eat," his Head of House replied. "They refused to move from your bedside for hours, but Professor Dumbledore insisted. He and Molly had some serious words before she finally agreed."

"How long have I been out?" he asked, surprised by what she was telling him.

"You've been unconscious for almost twenty hours," she said gravely. "You hit your head quite hard. You are quite lucky, Mr Potter."

"Oh," Harry said, unsure what else he could say. "Erm, but I'm ok now, right?"

"I daresay you will know that better than we do, Mr Potter," she said gently. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, but his words were somewhat ruined when he tried to shrug. As soon as he moved his shoulder, pain shot through his body once again, and again he couldn't prevent the grimace of pain from reaching his face.

"The truth, if you would, Mr Potter," McGonagall said with a frown.

"Erm, I'm a bit sore, I suppose," Harry said reluctantly. "My shoulder hurts every time I move it, and I have a bit of a headache." Harry had to seriously make an effort to avoid shrugging once more. His headache was a bit more serious than he was making out, but he really didn't want to make a big deal out of it. The sooner they all thought he was alright, the sooner he would be allowed to leave the Hospital Wing.

Harry risked a cautious glance at his Head of House, half expecting a reprimand for keeping his pain to himself, but he was surprised to see her looking down at him with an almost sad expression on her face.

"Are you ok, Professor?" he asked her cautiously.

"Why is it always you, Potter?" she asked him, looking into his eyes with an odd expression on her face.

"I've been asking myself that for years, Professor," Harry answered with a wry smile, received by McGonagall with a small smile of her own.

They were both quiet after that, neither quite sure of what else could be said. The silence was broken, however, when Madame Pomfrey returned with another armful of potions.

"More?" asked Harry incredulously.

"You suffered a bad break in your shoulder, Mr Potter," the Medi-Witch replied sternly. "We need to get the swelling down before I can heal it properly. On top of that you have undoubtedly received a concussion. What on earth possesses you young people to perform stupid, dangerous stunts – "

"Alright, alright!" Harry interrupted, not in the mood for yet another lecture from the nurse. He took the rest of the potions without further complaint, knowing that it would be useless to argue, although he was unable to prevent himself from rolling his eyes at the constant fussing of the nurse. He suspected that McGonagall had caught the sign of dissent, but for whatever reason she seemed more amused than annoyed by it.

As soon as he had swallowed the final disgusting concoction, Harry felt his eyes begin to droop tiredly against his will.

"You... tricked me..." he slurred as he realised that she had given him a sleeping potion.

"You need sleep in order to heal properly, Mr Potter," replied Madame Pomfrey sternly, completely unrepentant, and unperturbed by the glare that Harry was sleepily trying to give her.

Harry's retort was lost as his eyes closed and he drifted into unconsciousness once again.

* * *

><p>"- and then we can get the twins to do some fireworks."<p>

"Ron, it's only a birthday party. Harry isn't going to want anything too over the top!"

As Harry began to wake up once more, the voices swam through his foggy mind. Opening his eyes, he blinked as he tried to work out who was currently arguing.

"But fireworks would be great! He'd love it!" said a deep male voice that Harry recognised as belonging to his best friend Ron.

"Fred and George won't even be there, though. They said they had to work but they'd give Harry his birthday present another day." This voice was more feminine which signified that Ginny was the second voice that Harry could hear. They were evidently arguing, and despite his growing headache, Harry couldn't help but smile at the obvious display of sibling interaction. And what's more, they hadn't noticed that he'd woken up yet. He quietly picked up his glasses, careful not to reveal his newly acquired awareness. The conversation had certainly piqued his interest.

"Mum's made a cake, but I think Dobby's got some ideas that she's not going to like," Ron said, humour clear in his voice.

_Dobby? Cake?_

"I can see it now," replied Ginny, "Dobby, a free elf; death by cake explosion! I doubt it's what Harry wants on his sixteenth birthday."

His sixteenth birthday? Harry had never given much thought to his birthdays, and they had never really been celebrated by anyone before now. With all that had been going on recently, he had forgotten that it was coming up. He was slightly more wary about eavesdropping now. It was clearly supposed to be a surprise...

"I just hope he likes my present!" said Ron, quite proudly it seemed. Harry, who really didn't want to ruin the surprise now, was about to clear his voice, and announce his return to consciousness. However, it was taken out of his hands when the doors to the hospital wing swung open to reveal Professor Dumbledore. The Headmaster's face immediately rearranged into a smile when he noticed that Harry had woken up and was seemingly alright.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said jovially. "I must say, it's good to see you awake."

Ron and Ginny spun round so quickly that Harry was sure they must have suffered whiplash from it.

"Harry! You git – "

"Ronald!" interrupted Mrs Weasley as she followed the Professor towards Harry's hospital bed.

"– How come you didn't tell us you were awake?" Ron continued, ignoring his mother's scolding.

Harry was about to shrug when he remembered the previous pain in his shoulder. He cautiously began to move it, revelling in the distinct lack of pain from the area. It had been healed and was now back to normal, Harry noticed with relief.

"What happened?" Harry asked Dumbledore quickly, trying to head off Mrs Weasley who had been looking at him with concern.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore sadly. "It seems I've failed you once again."

"No –" Harry began.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "Hogwarts should be safe. They should not have been able to get to you here, especially with so many Order members in the vicinity. You were left to look after yourself once again, and for that I am truly sorry."

His look of remorse was so intense that Harry knew nothing he said would be able to remove it. Instead, Harry offered Dumbledore a tentative smile to signify that he really was alright. Dumbledore returned it with a small smile of his own.

"Now, Molly," began Dumbledore, injecting a cheerier tone into his voice, "I require a private talk with Harry here. Perhaps you could take young Ronald and Ginny and get started on those 'preparations' you were so excited about."

Harry could see that both Ron and Ginny were fighting to keep the smiles of their faces as they thought about those particular 'preparations'. Harry did his best to act as if he hadn't seen that, hoping to keep up the pretence a little longer.

* * *

><p>"I didn't mean to overhear about my birthday party" Harry said somewhat sheepishly, once the Weasleys had left the room. "No one's going to any trouble, are they?"<p>

"I'm afraid Mrs Weasley seems to be on a mission to give you the best birthday party ever," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Although I do ask that you don't tell her that I revealed that."

"I'll try to act surprised," Harry joked, feeling much better now that his shoulder was healed.

"Professor McGonagall told me what happened," Professor Dumbledore said, his expression turning grave. "Harry, I must ask; did you see the attacker?"

"I didn't see anything," Harry replied quietly. "Everything happened too fast. One minute everything was fine, the next thing I know my broom is taking off towards the forest!"

"We checked the area, but whoever was there had long gone," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Oh," said Harry.

"I'm afraid that we'll have to be very careful from now on," said Dumbledore sadly. "Voldemort seems to be stepping up his campaign to capture you. I know you will not like this Harry, but you simply can't be allowed to move around without some sort of protection."

"No. I am not a child," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying in vain to control his anger.

"Harry, it is no reflection on you," Dumbledore said, trying to placate Harry. "Hogwarts simply is not safe enough."

"Nowhere is safe enough!" Harry snapped. "I refuse to live my life as a prisoner! You did the same thing to Sirius and look what happened to him!"

"Harry –"

"No Sir, I'm sorry, but I will not allow you to follow me around, with guards, like I'm a bomb about to go off!"

"It is for your own good, Harry – "

"So was the Dursleys, and look what happened there."

Dumbledore gasped and although Harry slightly regretted the words, he couldn't bring himself to apologise just yet. Instead, he made a colossal effort to calm down.

"Look," began Harry, after taking a deep breath in an attempt to quell his anger, "there must be another option."

When Dumbledore didn't answer, Harry said, "Professor, you said you wanted to make it up to me after last year; that you wouldn't make the same mistakes. I don't want to waste my life! With the Prophecy...it's just...I don't know how long I'll get."

"Oh Harry..."

"When I was at the Dursleys I was worried about the Prophecy...scared really." Harry continued quietly, keeping his eyes down. "I kept thinking that I needed to learn how to fight so that I could do what the Prophecy laid out. I thought that if I knew enough, then I'd survive long enough to kill Voldemort. What happened afterwards...well that didn't matter. But now..."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore before he continued, "I don't want to live my life scared to look around every corner. I can't, _I won't, _live like that. That means Voldemort wins! I want to fight Professor, but more than that...I want to live!"

Dumbledore maintained eye contact with him, but Harry couldn't decipher the Professors expression.

"Then we will have to teach you," Dumbledore said simply.

"But...what?" Harry stammered, confused by Dumbledore's simple statement. He hadn't expected to win the argument that easily.

"We - the Order that is - will train you to fight," Dumbledore answered. "If you are adamant about forgoing Order protection, then we will simply have to make sure you can defend yourself."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with an usually stern expression on his face.

"I must ask you, Harry, to exercise caution. I will not post a guard to follow you around Hogwarts, but you in turn must take care not to do anything to jeopardise your safety. Please, do not go anywhere on the grounds alone. I will trust you, Harry, but I ask that you in turn trust me. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but I will never go against my word."

Harry nodded, then a thought struck him.

"I was also thinking..."he began, slightly nervous about his request now.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would it be possible... could _you _perhaps teach me Occlumency? The lessons with Snape were..."

"I think the word 'fiasco' would be appropriate here, Harry," Dumbledore supplied with the twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Yeah...I mean... I don't really feel like I learnt anything with him. And I know that last year you were worried about Voldemort trying to possess me, but I really don't think he'll try that again. After what happened at the Ministry... did I really hurt him?"

"You did. I really do not think you are in danger of being possessed again."

"I...that's not why I want to learn Occlumency," Harry said, pausing a moment in order to find the right words for what he was feeling. "It's just...he's like a parasite in my mind. He's _always_ there; I can feel him, still, sometimes, in the back of my mind. Sometimes I feel anger that I _know _isn't mine. I feel infected. Tainted. I need to get some control over my own mind. I want my mind to be _my _mind again! I want him out!"

Harry looked at Dumbledore, the intense emotion still clear on his face.

"So do you think you can try to teach me?" he asked.

"I think that can be arranged, my boy" Dumbledore replied. "Although it might have to wait a few days. I have a number of things to sort out for the new school year. In fact, I _was_ going to ask you to help me out with a little staffing problem."

"Although perhaps now isn't the best time," he amended as if he had just remembered that Harry had just experienced yet another near death experience.

"A new Defence teacher?" asked Harry curiously.

"Actually, Horace Slughorn used to be the Potion's master before Professor Snape," replied Dumbledore. "I was hoping he would consent to take up that post once again."

"Wait," said Harry, somewhat confused. "What about Snape then? Is he quitting?"

"_Professor _Snape will be taking up the position of Defence against the Dark Arts teacher."

"What!" Harry asked, his voice rising in his shock. Snape? Snape as _Defence _teacher? "But...but, what does Snape know about that."

"I think, Harry, that you will find that Professor Snape knows quite a bit about the subject," replied Dumbledore sternly, his voice taking up a tone of warning.

"But – "

"Harry, there is little choice in the matter," interjected Dumbledore. "Either Professor Snape takes up the post or the Ministry will become involved once more. With Cornelius Fudge still in charge – "

"- we'd get another Umbridge," finished Harry. Dumbledore simply nodded gravely.

"Erm, Sir, that reminds me," Harry began nervously, "I was wondering about the DA..."

"You wish to continue it?" Dumbledore guessed, a smile beginning to fight its way onto his aged face.

"Not exactly," said Harry. "Actually I was thinking that we should open it up to more people. Maybe make it an official club. For the whole school, I mean."

"I think that's a wonderful idea Harry," said Dumbledore with a hint of pride in his voice. "I was considering this myself actually. I wonder, how would you feel about having an assistant? If you are to make the club available for the whole school, I daresay you could use some help?"

At Harry's somewhat reluctant nod, Dumbledore continued, "I think there is a certain werewolf who would be quite happy to be back in a teaching position once again."

"Remus?" asked Harry catching on. "But what about the parents? Won't they complain about having a werewolf teaching their children?"

"Actually, Harry, I think you'd be surprised," Dumbledore replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "And in any case, the club would not be compulsory. If a parent decided that they were not content to have Remus teach their children, they would be quite within their rights to prevent their child from joining the club. The formation of the club, and the teachers who run it, however, remain at the Headmaster's discretion."

"I would love to have an assistant, Professor," Harry said, much more enthusiastic about the idea, now that he knew it would help Remus to do what he loved without persecution.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Now that is all sorted, perhaps I should leave you to get dressed. Madame Pomfrey has given you a clean bill of health, although she has told me to warn you that if you end up in the hospital wing one more time this year she will not be very happy."

"It's not my fault. Trouble follows me around..." Harry mumbled defensively.

"When you are ready, perhaps you could join us in the Great Hall," Dumbledore said with a wink. "Oh, and do try to act surprised."

Harry nodded with a grin, and started to gather up his belongings. Even as the door closed behind his Professor, the smile didn't fade. For once in his life, Harry was determined to enjoy his birthday.

* * *

><p>As he made his way through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, as he made his way towards the Great Hall, Harry thought about everything that had happened so far this summer. He had barely spent any time at the Dursleys, which was only a good thing in Harry's mind, but everything that had happened since he had arrived at Hogwarts, from the attack on the Burrow to the curse on his broom, emphasised how short life really was. He <em>had<em> to make the most of what he had, because quite simply, he knew that it could all disappear in an instant. He was determined not to make the same mistakes that he had done in the past. He didn't want to waste his life worrying about death. He meant what he had said to Dumbledore; Harry wanted to live. He wanted to be happy.

It was an insult to Sirius' memory, Harry realised, to continue to dwell on his Godfather's death. He would've hated it to see Harry so miserable. Sirius had spent so much of his life pulling pranks and making people laugh. Before Azkaban, Sirius had been all about having fun, and after he had escaped, all he seemed to want to do was give the same to Harry. That he had been unable to, was not his fault; the circumstances of Harry's life had simply not allowed it.

Now, Sirius was gone, but his memory wasn't. The man he had been could still help Harry now. It was time for Harry to let the grief go. He would always miss Sirius, and his parents, but Dumbledore was right; he couldn't allow himself to stop living his life how he deserved. Quite the opposite; now he had to live for all those who had given their lives so that he could have a chance to live his. He had to make their sacrifices worth it.

He reached the Great Hall quickly, having been lost in his thoughts as he walked. However, now he was slightly apprehensive. As he stood outside the huge wooden doors, the silence was a bit disconcerting. What about the party? Was something wrong...?

He brought a hand to the door knob and pulled the door slowly open, his other hand clasped tightly around his wand as he made his way cautiously into the darkened room...

"SURPIRSE!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"

Noise and light assaulted Harry, and it was only the fact that he could see friendly faces amongst the crowd that prevented him from cursing the lot of them.

"What's going on?" said Harry as he tried to make sense of the sight in front of him. The Great Hall had been transformed. There were balloons and streamers covering every surface, and it was clear to Harry that Dobby had played some part in the decorations.

"It's your birthday party of course," said Ginny as she walked over to him. She gave him a hug, and to Harry's surprise followed this up with a quick kiss on his cheek. Harry's face burned, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He didn't have much chance to think on it further though, as he was congratulated individually by the rest of the guests, the majority of whom were the Order members.

"Happy birthday, Harry," said Ron cheerfully, "Bet you weren't expecting this."

"No, I wasn't," said Harry honestly as he looked around the room. When they had mentioned a birthday party, he hadn't really known what to expect. As it turned out, reality exceeded even his wildest expectations.

Walking around with a grin on his face, Harry couldn't help but feel affection for each and every one of them.

"Potter," said Moody, breaking into Harry's thoughts, as he limped over to join Harry by his side. "It seems we'll be seeing a lot of each other soon."

"What?" said Harry, who had been distracted when a huge cake was brought out to huge cheers from the guests.

"Albus has mentioned that you need training up," Moody said gruffly. "I may be retired, but I reckon I could still teach you a thing or two."

"Alastor, leave Potter alone," interjected the Scottish accent of Professor McGonagall. "It's his birthday. Talks about training can wait until tomorrow."

Moody looked like he was about to argue but a stern expression from McGonagall stopped him in his tracks.

"I'll be seeing you, Potter," Moody said ominously, and Harry couldn't prevent his throat from drying up at the thought of training with Mad-eye.

"Go on then, Potter," said McGonagall, her expression softening as she turned back to Harry. "Go and enjoy yourself."

He nodded at her in thanks and made his way over to the Weasleys, who Harry knew had something to do with the party.

"Harry!" said Mr Weasley when he finally reached them.

"Hello Mr Weasley," Harry said, trying to keep the guilt out of his expression. "You look much better."

"I'm fully healed, thanks to Madame Pomfrey," replied Mr Weasley jovially, beaming as he shook Harry's hand. "Happy birthday, young man."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley, really" said Harry sincerely as he looked between both Weasley parents. "You've done so much for me, both of you, and I'm not even your child."

"You may have been born a Potter, Harry," said Mrs Weasley with an unusually stern expression on her kindly face, "but you will always be considered a Weasley to us."

Harry didn't know how to reply to this, so choked up was he by the declaration. He was saved, however, when people began to chant.

"Presents, presents...!"

"What?" said Harry, choking back the emotion and looking towards Ron and Ginny.

"Its present opening time," answered Ron, looking bemusedly at Harry as though he had turned stupid or insane. "I'll just go and get the one from me. Hermione sent one too, so I'll grab that as well."

"Presents..?" said Harry, as he watched Ron head over to a table that seemed full of presents.

"Of course," replied Ginny, somewhat confused by Harry's reaction. "It's the best part about birthday parties! You've had birthday parties before, haven't you?"

Blushing a bit, Harry looked away before he answered, "Erm no. I mean, Dudley had parties, but..."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I never knew," apologised Ginny.

"It doesn't matter," replied Harry, shrugging. "This party beats anything the Dursleys could've come up with anyway."

"Here," interrupted Ron as he returned to Ginny's side, shoving a long box into Harry's hands.

Harry lifted up the wooden box that was about the length of his wand, and tried to guess what Ron could possibly have given him. When his mind came up with nothing, he opened it up and looked inside.

"I didn't have a lot of money to buy something expensive, but I asked mum and dad..."

Ron's words were lost as Harry jumped on him, hugging the friend who he would always see as his brother in all but blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, his voice muffled in Ron's shoulder. Ron must have heard it, however, as he returned Harry's out-of-character hug with equal vigour.

For a boy who had never known his family, it was quite a shock for Harry to realise that they had been under his nose the entire time. He looked around at all of them, and was greeted with beaming faces, and a few teary eyes. Harry couldn't help the huge grin that was forcing its way onto his face. He had thought he was alone, but he was finally beginning to realise that he had never really had been alone at all.

Lying comfortably in the wooden box on the table next to him, forgotten momentarily as he thanked each Weasley in turn, was a long wooden clock hand to be fixed onto the Weasley family clock; a hand with Harry's name on it.

* * *

><p>AN- So what did you think? I thought Harry deserved a good chapter for once, especially with some of the things that will be coming up soon in the story. Thanks for reading, and leave me a review if you've got time!

Coming up... _Chapter 13: Occlumency_


	13. Occlumency

**A/N- **So, another chapter has arrived! This one took a little extra work because I deviated from my plan a little. My problem is that I know where I'm going- I'm just not quite sure how to get there yet. It may take a bit of time, so please be patient. This chapter was supposed to be part of the next one (Learning Curves) but the muse took me and this part ended up being a lot longer than I'd planned. It finished at a good place, I think, so I decided to split the chapter up into two. Here is the first instalment. Hope you enjoy it, and the next one shouldn't be too far behind (although it hasn't actually been written yet). Thanks for everyone who has reviewed this story so far- it really does help the quality of my writing.

**Warnings:** There are some mentions of physical abuse in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: <strong>Occlumency

* * *

><p><em>I've got another confession my friend; I'm no fool.<em>

_I'm getting tired of starting again, somewhere new._

_Were you born to resist or be abused?_

_I swear I'll never give in, I refuse._

_Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?_

'_**Best Of You,' Foo Fighters**_

* * *

><p>"<em>I want my mind to be my mind again! I want him out!"<em>

Harry's words haunted Dumbledore as he sat at his desk, his head in his hands once again as he waited for Harry's first Occlumency lesson with him.

If only the boy knew...

Harry's mind would never be his own, not so long as Voldemort lived, and it was that fact that was threatening to pull Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Leader of the Light, into a sea of despair. If he was right, and deep down he knew that he was, then Harry would never completely be free of Voldemort until he was defeated, because a piece of the Dark Lord, a piece that was helping to keep the evil wizard alive, was _inside _of the young man.

What was worse, Dumbledore knew that he could not tell Harry about this, even despite the fact that it felt as if he was betraying the boy all over again. He simply could not add that final, terrible burden. That Harry's own life force was currently keeping Voldemort tied to this earth. That so long as Harry lived, Voldemort could not be destroyed. Neither could live. Neither would survive.

Harry had been marked by Voldemort that Halloween night in more ways than one. Marked physically, mentally; marked by a destiny that none of them would be able to control.

The Headmaster sighed as he thought about the lack of control they had over it. Dumbledore hated it, and had searched long and hard for a way to get around the fact that the foreign soul in Harry had to be destroyed so that peace could reign once again. Harry would need to be sacrificed.

For the Greater Good.

How he despised those words now. They taunted him with his mistakes, and yet he could see no way around it. Already he had put the life of Harry, the happiness of the boy, ahead of what was best for the fight, and it had ended disastrously. He would not lie to Harry, but he could not make the same mistake again. For love, he had risked the fate of the world; he knew he could not do so again. Harry could not be told. Not yet.

He wasn't ready. Neither of them were.

Again, Albus saw that he was falling into the same trap that he had fallen into last year, but this time, he was resolute. Harry did not _need _to know this. In this case, it was not just for the Greater Good; it was for the good of Harry himself.

The prophecy did not dictate _when _this final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort would take place, nor did it specify the manner in which one would defeat the other. Harry may have years to prepare. Years to live. Above all, Dumbledore wanted Harry to live.

The leader of the Order of the Phoenix felt like a helpless observer of fate; cursed to sit by and watch as Harry's destiny unfolded.

But he would give his dying breath before he simply presented the boy to be killed without a fight. Albus knew, even if he had to completely forgo sleep, that he would find a way to save Harry. He would find a way for Harry to survive. He had to.

As his thoughts continued to revolve around Voldemort and Harry, his mind turned to the problem that the other Horcruxes presented. For he knew, as shocking as it may be, that Voldemort, in his folly, had created more than one. He had proof in the form of the diary that Harry had destroyed in only his second year, and more recently, in the form of the Gaunt ring. He had been tempted, he admitted to himself in shame, by what he suspected the ring really was.

_The Resurrection Stone._

In a trance, he had almost put the ring on, desperate to see his parents and sister again; craving their forgiveness. In the end, though, he had won the battle and resisted the temptation. Thoughts of Harry, and the pain that the boy had been in, gave his mind clarity in the desperation, and he knew, somehow, that if he tried to put it on, his life would be forfeit. He would not give his life away so cheaply, not for his own sake, but for the sake of the people who needed him. For Harry.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore was pulled out of his pensive thoughts when he heard a light knock.<p>

Not expecting any other visitors apart from Harry, Dumbledore knew it was the teenager arriving for his first Occlumency lesson. Tension wound up through Albus as he tried to prepare himself for the lesson. The venerable Headmaster was anxious; no matter what he taught Harry about the art of Occlumency, he really had no idea what effect it would be able to have on the connection between Voldemort and the young man. He wondered which one of them would be most nervous about the lessons.

From the look of the pale, apprehensive figure in front of him, Albus suspected that it wasn't himself.

"Take a seat, Harry," he said gently. "I would like to talk about a few things with you, before we begin."

As he took in the nervous and unusually quiet figure in front of him, Dumbledore knew that something was troubling his student. Albus couldn't help but be worried about the young man, and he certainly wasn't the only one.

Harry's birthday had been just over a week ago, but the happiness had quickly evaporated as his training had begun. No one, not even Moody, had failed to notice the strain that the lessons had been putting on the teenager.

During the days, Harry seemingly acted as normal; when he wasn't training, he joined in with Quidditch games and chess matches with the Weasley children, but even they had noticed something off about his mood, no matter how much the boy tried to hide it. It was clear that Harry's mind was often elsewhere, far removed from frivolous games of chess. It was a common occurrence for a guard patrolling the castle corridors late at night to meet Harry in some quiet corner of the castle, staring out of a window, deep in thought.

He had even occasionally missed meals, only to be found, some time later, in the kitchens on his own. Albus could see the worry etched on young Ronald's face, as he quietly observed the strain his best friend was putting himself under, and the Headmaster couldn't help but share that worry. But the truth was, none of them knew what exactly what was troubling the young man, nevermind how to help him.

"I noticed you received your OWL results yesterday," said Dumbledore lightly, hoping to get the young man to open up a bit more. "I trust you did well?"

Harry just shrugged, and Dumbledore realised that whatever was bothering the boy, it would need to be dealt with. He couldn't bear it if Harry began to seep back into his previous depression. After talking to Harry about his grief, Dumbledore had seen improvement in Harry's mood, but whatever was affecting Harry now was undoing all of his progress.

"Well, you will need to leave one period free when you choose which classes you will take. I wish for you to take private lessons with me," Dumbledore said. He heard the words leave his lips before he was even aware of thinking them, and yet he was certain he was doing the right thing. He may not be ready to tell Harry about the Horcrux that lived on inside him, but he was sure that the knowledge of Horcruxes themselves was a necessary part of Harry's teaching. The training that Harry was currently undergoing with Moody was important, yes, but it was strictly for self-defence. Harry was not going to defeat Voldemort on strength of skill alone, that much Dumbledore was sure of. Voldemort was too strong, too powerful. Voldemort would not be killed by strength, but by knowledge. And if Harry was to defeat him, he had to know as much as Dumbledore could tell him.

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore as he looked at the pale teenager from above his half-moon spectacles, "do you know the basic principles of Occlumency?"

Harry looked up, somewhat surprised at the sudden change of subject, and still trying to get his head around the idea of private lessons with Dumbledore.

"I think so," replied Harry uncertainly. "Occlumency is used to protect a person's mind against an external penetration."

"You've been doing some reading," said Dumbledore shrewdly.

"Some," acknowledged Harry reluctantly.

"Well, you are essentially correct," continued Dumbledore, when Harry failed to elaborate, "although not entirely. Occlumency is also used to organise one's thoughts. It is believed, and I must say I agree, that if a person's mind is well organised, recognising a threat, and then expelling that threat, becomes much easier to accomplish."

At Harry's somewhat apprehensive look, Dumbledore moved to reassure him.

"It is much easier than it sounds, Harry," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "The hard part is when you actually try to expel the foreign mind from your thoughts and memories, or at the very least misdirect them. That is what we will begin working on today. When you are on your own, perhaps before you go to sleep, I would like you to try and organise your memories. Meditation, I find is useful here, because it gives you the chance to become better acquainted with your own mind. It can be enlightening to discover how your mind works. I suspect not many people think about it."

"Snape said I should clear my mind," said Harry resentfully.

"Professor Snape is not wrong," said Dumbledore sternly, recognising the anger that was present in the voice of the teenager. "There are different approaches to the teaching of Occlumency. Professor Snape's way did not work for you, but that does not mean it could not work for someone else. I have a different approach that I suspect will work better. We shall see."

"It didn't work because I didn't try hard enough," Harry said dejectedly. "I wanted information, and it was the only way I could think to get it."

"It is not your fault Harry," assured Dumbledore. "As I said on the night that we lost Sirius; it was my fault, and my fault alone."

Without giving Harry time to protest, as he knew he would, Dumbledore continued.

"Now, prepare yourself. Closing off your emotions is essential, which is why Professor Snape advised you to clear your mind. It gives a person more control, and makes it easier to notice a presence that does not belong there."

Harry closed his eyes, and after a few moments of deep breathing, opened them and nodded towards his Professor to indicate that he was ready. Dumbledore noticed that Harry's right hand, the hand that was holding his wand up, was shaking ever so slightly.

"Alright then, Harry," said Dumbledore. "For this first attempt, I will not try to enter stealthily; I want you to get used to feeling a foreign presence first."

Upon noticing Harry's worried look, Dumbledore moved to reassure him. "Don't worry, my boy, I'll be as gentle as possible.

When he noticed that Harry had visibly relaxed, he continued. "Well then, if you are ready we will begin on the count of three"

He raised his wand, an action mirrored by Harry. "One...two...three..._Legilimens!"_

* * *

><p>Harry felt Dumbledore's presence immediately, but it felt completely different to the way in which Snape had tried to breach his feeble protection.<p>

Where Snape had sped through his memories, disorientating Harry further and making it more difficult to gain control, Dumbledore apparently took his time giving Harry time to gather his senses and gain some semblance of control. The down side, of course, was that Dumbledore had free access to his memories and Harry, at present, could do little to stop him. He didn't know how. Memories played before his eyes in excruciating detail, from his childhood to the more innocuous memories of his day to day life at Hogwarts, and Harry found himself powerless to stop them. Concentrating as hard as he could, he tried to force Dumbledore out, but it made no difference; the memories of his life agonisingly continued to play.

Harry struggled with the battle that was raging in his mind, and he didn't know how much time had passed since Dumbledore had first cast the spell. Time was irrelevant to the young man as he tried fruitlessly to eject his Professor from his memories.

The memory switched yet again, and Harry found himself immediately recognising this particular memory with mounting horror. He had been seven at the time.

_He remembered entering the kitchen of the Dursley house, fresh from a day at school, holding something behind his back._

"_What is it, boy?" snapped his Aunt when Harry tried to get her attention._

"_I have something...for you," replied Harry quietly._

_From behind his back, he pulled out a card and handed it to Aunt Petunia. It was a mother's day card he had made at school._

"_Do you like it?" Harry asked shyly and nervously, bravely giving his Aunt a small smile._

_His Aunt just looked at the card, ignoring Harry completely, and Harry found he couldn't decipher the expression on her face. To Harry's horror and devastation, however, she simply threw the card into the kitchen bin._

"_I am not your mother," she snapped sharply. "Now leave me alone."_

_And Harry did, although he could not prevent the tears from running down his face..._

"No more!" Harry shouted as he forced the stinging memory away. He had forgotten that day. It had been pushed away to the back of his mind until now.

As Harry shook the remnants of emotion that the memory had stirred up, he realised that not only had he forced Dumbledore out of his mind, but he had done so without resorting to using his wand.

"Not bad, Harry," said Dumbledore pleasantly, although he was slightly paler than usual as he watched Harry pick himself off the floor. "You were able to expel me from your mind eventually, but only to protect that particular memory. However, I was able to see the others easily. We need to work on protecting _all _your memories, not just certain ones."

Dumbledore didn't seem to need to discuss that particular memory, Harry noted with relief.

"How are you feeling?" asked Dumbledore, a concerned expression on his face.

"Alright, I suppose," said Harry, rubbing his scar. He could definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Shall we try once more then, my boy?" asked Dumbledore, and Harry nodded quickly, desperately eager to learn the skill that had troubled him for so long, and bolstered somewhat by the praise.

"This time, I think we will try a different approach," said Dumbledore. "I want you to misdirect me, rather than expel me completely."

"How, sir?" asked Harry eagerly. "How do I do that?"

"Close your eyes." Harry obeyed immediately, and Dumbledore continued. "Now I want you to think of a safe place. Somewhere where you feel calm and protected. Choosing a safe place will help you to keep better control of your emotions, and therefore your mind. It can be anywhere, but I do suggest you choose somewhere that you know well. It will help when you try to keep that image in your mind."

"Do you have a place in mind?" Dumbledore asked, when Harry had been quiet for some time.

"Yeah," replied Harry reluctantly.

"May I ask where you have chosen?"

"My cupboard," Harry replied quietly, reddening slightly.

"Wha - ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," interrupted Harry flatly.

Dumbledore gave Harry a long, hard look, but didn't push the subject further, recognising correctly that now was not the right time to confront the teenager about it.

"Do you have a picture of this...cupboard in your mind?" asked Dumbledore with difficulty.

At Harry's nod, Dumbledore raised his wand once again. "Alright, then we will try once more. This time, instead of trying to force me out, I want you to think only of the...cupboard. If you are successful, it should be all I can see."

The Headmaster raised his wand once again. "One...two...three..._Legilimens!"_

This time, there was no flashing off memories. All Harry could see was darkness. He could feel sweat poring off his face as he tried to maintain the image of the darkened cupboard that had featured so heavily in his childhood. He may have despised it, but the truth was he had always felt safe in the darkness. Lonely and bored, but safe. He could feel himself tiring, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep the image up much longer.

A crack of light began to appear in the darkness, and it was with a growing sense of horror that Harry watched as the cupboard door of the image he had been trying to project swung open. He found himself in an unwanted memory of an angry Uncle.

"_What did you do!" seethed Uncle Vernon. He was dragged from his cupboard roughly, and brought, blinking, into the light of the hallway. Judging by the pictures of Dudley on the wall, he had only been about five at the time._

"_I didn't!" cried Harry, as his Uncle shook him. "I was in my cupboard the whole time, I promise!"_

"_You little liar!" said Uncle Vernon, not lessening his grip on his young nephew's arm. "Dudley's party was going well¸ and then all of a sudden everyone starts getting sick! What did you do!"_

_Despite the protests that young Harry was making, Uncle Vernon seemed beyond reason. He continued to grip and yell at the small boy, until, with a sickening crack that Harry could still remember to this day, his young arm snapped at an unnatural angle._

_Harry cried out in pain and Uncle Vernon immediately dropped his nephew in shock. Harry slid to the floor, gripping his arm tightly to his chest, tears flooding down his cheeks._

"_Stay there!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic, as his nephew tried to stand up. "Just...stay!"_

"_Petunia! Petunia..._

"Stop! Just stop!" yelled Harry as he felt Dumbledore leave his mind. Whether it was because he had forced him out, or if Dumbledore had chosen to leave, Harry didn't care.

"Why did you have to watch that!" Harry cried inconsolably, his face a picture of anguish as he tried desperately to rid his mind of the horrifying memory that had been pushed to the back of his consciousness until now. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"

Refusing to look at his mentor, and without turning back, Harry ran through the door and down the winding staircase. Without even stopping to even take a breath, and with his head pounding in rhythm to his heavily beating heart, Harry sprinted down the corridors and away from Dumbledore's office.

* * *

><p>When he finally became aware of what he was doing, Harry realised that he had come back to the top of the Astronomy tower without even thinking about it. It was fast becoming his favourite place to come when he needed space. At the moment, it was what he needed most.<p>

Harry didn't quite understand why he had reacted so strongly to that particular memory; it wasn't like Dumbledore didn't already know how the Dursleys had treated him. It wasn't as if he had to hide it anymore.

And yet...

Dumbledore had only known about the treatment; he hadn't seen it before. No one had. He had known when he asked Dumbledore for Occlumency lessons that memories such as that would come out, but it appeared that he hadn't been quite prepared enough. It had shocked him, even more so because he had always tried to forget the worse things that had happened during his childhood. He had moved on, but by being confronted with the memory of that time in his life... it brought all the bad things back. Everything he had tried so hard to forget, or at least push to the back of his mind.

He didn't know how long he stood at the window, staring out across the grounds and lost in his thoughts, but eventually his heart returned to a calmer rhythm and his breathing went back to normal. He was just trying to decide if it was worth going to the Great Hall for dinner, when he heard footsteps coming up the stone stairs to the tower. He knew who it would be.

"Sorry I ran out, Professor," said Harry despondently, without turning to greet Dumbledore.

"It's alright Harry," replied Dumbledore quietly as he moved to his student's side.

Harry just shrugged. He folded his arms protectively across his chest as he continued to look out of the window.

"What's wrong, Harry?" asked Dumbledore gently, his face white as he took in the state of the boy in front of him. Although Harry had calmed down considerably, he was still clearly not okay.

"I'm fine," replied Harry shakily.

"Forgive me, Harry," said Dumbledore, "but I don't quite believe you."

Harry shrugged once more, and Dumbledore had to swallow his guilt at the situation. It was all his fault.

It was clear by Harry's demeanor that he was closing in on himself once again. Dumbledore could see that Harry didn't want to talk about the memory, but Dumbledore couldn't let him pretend that nothing happened. The memory had clearly affected the teenager, and Dumbledore needed to hear about it. And what's more, Harry needed to tell him.

"How many times did that happen, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, trying in vein to control his anger at the Dursleys.

"O-Only once," Harry choked out, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Aunt Petunia stopped him after that. He never went...that far again."

At the prolonged silence that followed this statement, Harry raised his head and chanced a brief look at his mentor. Dumbledore had paled dramatically, and his eyes were closed tightly.

"They were wrong," said Dumbledore, his voice graver than Harry had ever heard it, and more serious than Harry had dared belief was possible of the usually jovial Professor.

"He didn't mean to break my arm," said Harry defensively, although he wasn't quite sure why. "It was an accident – "

"That doesn't matter," interrupted Dumbledore angrily, although his anger was directed at Vernon Dursley rather than Harry. "They were wrong to treat you like that. Harry, my boy, you do know that? Tell me you know – "

"I know...I mean...I do now, anyway. I didn't when I was younger," Harry replied reluctantly.

At Dumbledore's rapidly paling face, Harry moved quickly to reassure his Professor.

"It always _felt_ wrong, but...I had no one to tell me that. No one to show me how I was supposed to be treated. I suppose...I suppose I got used to it, in a way."

"But I know they shouldn't have done it," Harry said quickly before Dumbledore could respond. "That I did nothing wrong. I didn't deserve it. I know that, Professor. I do."

"It's just..." Harry continued as he tried to gather his thoughts. "worse things have happened to me. It doesn't matter any more."

"You will never go back there," said Dumbledore, and Harry was taken aback by the strength in his mentor's words. "Never."

"What about the blood wards?" Harry asked, hardly daring to hope.

"You only would have had the protection for one more year anyway," said Dumbledore, his voice hard as he considered the price for that protection. "We will just have to break the wards early."

"But...what about the Dursleys?" asked Harry quietly. "Won't they be vulnerable?"

"I will add some other protection," said Dumbledore, looking like it was the very last thing he wanted to do. He put an aged hand on the young man's shoulder, hoping to reassure him. "They will be safe enough."

"Thanks," said Harry quietly, "I don't want them to be hurt. Not because of me."

"And that is precisely why I have complete faith that one day you will defeat Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore with a proud smile, but the statement seemed to have the opposite effect on Harry. He shrugged Dumbledore's hand away from his shoulder, and took a step away from his Professor.

"No I won't," mumbled Harry so quietly that Dumbledore had to strain to hear it. "The Prophecy's wrong. I can't do it."

"You can," said Dumbledore, aware that it was these thoughts that clearly had something to do with his deteriorating mood in the past few weeks.

"How then! How do I do it?" cried Harry suddenly, his expression desperate. Dumbledore flinched at the pain in Harry's voice. "HOW?"

"I can't, I can't do it," he continued dejectedly, refusing to look his mentor in the eyes, expecting only disappointment in his expression. "I'm not strong enough. I'll never be strong enough."

"You already are, Harry," said Dumbledore sadly, realising that Harry was genuinely terrified of this. "You are the strongest person I know."

"I don't think I am," Harry said quietly.

"Harry, forgive me, but I must disagree," said Dumbledore lifting Harry's chin so that he could make sure that his words got across to the young man. "When you were only eleven, you got past numerous protections and you were willing to give your life to prevent Voldemort from returning. When you were twelve you willingly entered the Chamber of Secrets to save a girl you barely even knew. You went back in time to save a Godfather you had only known for a few hours when you were thirteen. When you were fourteen you saw Voldemort return, and yet you still escaped, and last year you risked your life again, to save Sirius. You took on Death Eaters and found yourself equal to them!"

"Its not the same!"

"No, it isn't," Dumbledore conceded, "because in each of those situations, you did not have training and you did not know enough magic. And yet you survived, Harry! You fought, and you won!"

"Don't you see?" he continued when Harry didn't repspond. "You are so strong; stronger than anyone that I've ever met!"

"I was lucky," argued Harry, unwilling to give in yet.

"You had weapons. The sword, the brother wands, your mother's protection," insisted Dumbledore. "But you used them! When anyone else would have given in, you were brave! Can you not see how amazing you are? How unusual? How incredible?"

When Harry just looked shell-shocked in reply, Dumbledore took a deep breath and continued.

"Occlumency would never have worked in the way we have been trying to teach you," he said, shaking his head in regret as he added yet another mistake to his growing list. "You are the exception to the rule once again Harry. For most, clearing your mind is essential in order to protect it. For you, it seems, the opposite is true. I should have seen it. When you were possessed by Voldemort, what was it that saved you?"

"I thought of Sirius," Harry said quietly.

"It was love," Dumbledore corrected gently. "Emotion at its most intense. I think we should perhaps find some way to apply this principle to Occlumency. I will give it some thought, Harry."

"Okay," said Harry shakily.

Apparently satisfied with Harry's answer, at least for now, Dumbledore began to move towards the door.

"I think we should leave the Occlumency lesson there for tonight, however," said Dumbledore gently. "We will continue another time, if you are still willing?"

At Harry's nod, Dumbledore allowed a small smile to grace his face. He patted Harry on the shoulder once more before walking calmly out of the door. He had said all he could to convince Harry that all was not yet lost.

The rest was up to Harry now, and honestly, Dumbledore knew the young man would be alright.

He truly was stronger than them all.

* * *

><p>AN- So, how was this chapter? I particularly want to know if people like the interaction between Harry and Dumbledore. Are Harry's moods swinging too much? I wanted to show that even if he overcame one reason for depression (grief), he would still have others. His life isn't great, but it's starting to get better ('starting' is the key word). He will have relapses, but at least this year he isn't going to be left alone to deal with them. Oh, and if people are wondering where Remus is, he's taking a step back because he knows Dumbledore is helping Harry. Don't worry though; he will play a big part later on. The story will be moving on much more quickly now, and even though updates might be a bit slower (I have exams), I hope it's worth the wait. Anyway, thanks for reading and let me know what you think.

Coming up... _Chapter 14: Learning Curves_


	14. Learning Curves

**A/N- **Another chapter has arrived! Hurrah! Hopefully this chapter is a bit lighter in mood than the previous ones, but I guess you'll be the judge of that! Hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: <strong>Learning Curves

* * *

><p><em>If you need a place where you can run,<em>

_If you need a shoulder to cry on,_

_I'll always be your friend._

_When you need some shelter from the rain,_

_When you need a healer for your pain,_

_I will be there time and time again._

'_**Here I am', Leona Lewis**_

* * *

><p>Harry exhaled slowly, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper as he walked slowly along the corridor that would take him back to the Gryffindor common room. He had briefly considered going to dinner with the rest of the current occupants in the castle, but he in the end he had decided it was a much better idea to just go back to Gryffindor tower. He needed to think.<p>

For the past week, his mind had been in a rut that he couldn't seem to get himself out of. No matter how much he tried, and no matter how much progress he made in his training sessions with Moody, he still could not see how it would help him defeat Voldemort. Moody had been tough, yes, but fights with Death Eaters and duels with Voldemort would surely be a lot worse, yet he was still nowhere near that level. And what's more, he didn't think he would ever be.

The Prophecy must have been wrong, he had thought almost incessantly throughout the week.

He couldn't do it.

Harry had continued to train, and play, and do whatever else was expected of him as the week progressed but he couldn't prevent a slight desperation from seeping into his consciousness at the thought of his destiny. He had people counting on him, and he knew he would fight for each and every one of them, yet he honestly didn't think he could win.

He was dooming them all.

Despite his resolve to live life, and try to be happy, Harry couldn't stop that sense of desperation from turning in a state of almost constant anxiousness.

When the Occlumency lesson had come upon him, his nervousness was not just aimed at the lessons themselves, although that did give him more than enough cause to worry. He was also terrified that Dumbledore would see straight through the projection he had given to everyone that he was alright. Simply put, Harry did not want to let the old man down. He did not want to appear weak, even if that was exactly how he saw himself.

But the disaster that had been his Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore, and the conversation that had followed it, had thrown all Harry's previous beliefs out of the window, and now Harry wasn't really sure what to think.

He had been told all his life that what he felt didn't matter. From his early childhood, all the way to his dealings with the Ministry, as well as others like Snape, his emotions, no matter how much they hurt, were simply not important to them. It was hard for Harry to now realise that they might be the most important thing; that they might one day help him to survive and win was a concept that Harry clung to now, with hope burgeoning in his chest.

With his head held high, and his step becoming more purposeful as he walked, he made his way back to the Common room. Despite his slightly better mood, and a lighter feeling in his chest, Harry's thoughts were a mess after the discussion with his Headmaster, and as his head began to throb painfully, Harry wished he could do nothing more than sleep.

He climbed into through the portrait hole, expecting to find an empty room when he entered since everyone was supposed to be in the Great Hall for dinner, but he was surprised to find Ron sat in one of their favourite chairs by the fire, staring into the flames.

"Ron?" asked Harry, trying to get his friend's attention as he walked over to the fireplace.

"Oh, you're back?" said Ron, as he stood up and turned to face Harry. "How was the lesson?"

From the concerned, and yet understanding expression on Ron's face, Harry decided that he didn't want to lie to his friend, not this time.

"A disaster, really," answered Harry, with a wry smile at Ron.

"That bad?" asked Ron quietly as he studied the pale face, and red eyes of his friend. The joking manner in which Harry had mentioned the lesson had not fooled the red-head and he looked over to his friend with some concern.

Harry just shrugged and took a seat in the armchair by the fire, hoping that the conversation would end there. To his relief, Ron simply walked quietly over to the chairs and sunk gratefully into one without questioning Harry any further.

"Why aren't you at dinner?" Harry asked Ron quietly after they hadn't spoken for a few minutes, both having been lost in their own thoughts.

"I remember how bad the Occlumency lessons were last year," Ron answered with a shrug. "I thought...maybe you'd need to talk about it or something. Or maybe you'd want to play chess to take your mind off it."

As he said this, Ron pulled over their chess sets from the table next to them and began setting them up.

"Oh," replied Harry, unsure how else to respond. "Chess sounds good actually. Erm, thanks mate."

Thankfully, Ron didn't seem to expecting much of a response at all, and he merely nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the chess pieces. He seemed to be deep in thought and it was a few minutes before he spoke again.

"I wanted to...you know._..be there _this year," Ron said quietly as he stared at the knight piece that he had picked up. "For you and Hermione, I mean. I wasn't much use last year."

"Ron..."

"No," Ron interrupted suddenly, his voice rising as his distress grew, shocking Harry into silence. "I wasn't! Umbridge _tortured _you! All year! Dumbledore was gone from the school, you kept having visions and nightmares, and where was I? Playing Quidditch like a wannabe hero!"

"You were there, Ron," insisted Harry when Ron seemed to lose steam. "You and Hermione might not have been tortured by that bitch, but you were there! You helped, even if you couldn't stop it."

"We didn't do anything," said Ron, although it was slightly half-hearted as his eyes rose to meet those of his friend's.

"I spent years at the Dursleys without _one_ friend to help me; to be there for me! You have no idea how important you are to me!"

Ron was hard pressed to not scoff harshly, but Harry hadn't missed the thought as it flitted across Ron's face.

"You _are_ important you know," said Harry quietly as Ron carried on setting out the chess pieces, erratically, obviously trying not to show how emotional he was getting. "I don't think I've ever told you that before though."

"I know you think you're not sometimes...don't deny it," he said when Ron started to protest. "You think because you're my best friend that people will compare the two of us. You think that because I'm the _Great Harry Potter_ that people will always think I'm better than you. That I'm worth more than you."

Ron closed his eyes. It was exactly how he felt; how could he deny it when Harry was telling him his worst insecurities.

"It's not true," said Harry softly but sincerely. "I'd be nothing without you. You're my best mate; my first real friend anywhere, let alone in the Wizarding World. You and Hermione are my family; you're the brother I never had growing up and Hermione's the sister I always wanted."

"Sister...?" asked Ron, confused, and Harry looked towards his friend with some concern.

"Yeah, it's always been like that," replied Harry with a small frown as he noticed surprise flicker across Ron's face. "I thought you knew. She's like my sister. I reckon she feels the same about me too."

"Sister..."muttered Ron, lost in thought.

Harry looked up at Ron curiously, but Ron was oblivious to the attention since he was so lost in his thoughts.

"I need something to fight for," continued Harry when Ron didn't say anything for a while, "but I also need someone to fight with. You've always had my back."

"Not always," mumbled Ron, ashamed, as he looked down at the chess pieces instead of at Harry.

"When it counted, you were always there when I needed you, Ron," said Harry decisively. "I couldn't do it without you mate."

"You don't have to," said Ron, a determined look upon his face.

After a few minutes of what seemed to be a contemplative silence, Ron spoke once again, "Do you think...do you think Moody will let me train with you two?"

"Maybe," said Harry uncertainly. "It won't be fun though. Moody's tough. I reckon I'll end up with a wooden leg to match his before he's done with me."

Ron didn't laugh.

"You shouldn't have to fight alone, Harry," he said assertively. "In fact, you _won't _be fighting alone. I won't let you. Neither will Hermione, and you know it."

They looked at each other then, and both knew with an absolute clarity that can only be gained when two friends know each other almost better than they know themselves, that they would fight together, until the end.

"Thanks," Harry said sincerely. "It means a lot, mate."

It was in that moment that Harry also realised that he would have to tell his friends about the prophecy. If they were going to fight with him, they of all people deserved to know the truth. Harry certainly owed them that much, after they had stuck by his all these years.

"Now," said Harry, pushing aside any thoughts regarding the prophecy and his possible fate to be dealt with another time, "I'm white, so I'm first. Maybe today will be the first time I actually beat you!"

"Fat chance, mate," Ron replied with a small but clear smirk, his mood lightening as he studied the board closely before making his move. It wasn't long before the game began in earnest, and the two friends allowed their thoughts to turn to the strategy of the game instead of war.

* * *

><p>"Come on! Kill him! He's only a bloody pawn," Harry whined, as he tried desperately to salvage the game in front of him.<p>

Ron snorted at his friend's misfortune, but showed no mercy as he made the move he knew would win him the game.

"Ah," said Harry good-naturedly when he realised that the game was lost to him. At least this time he had managed to last longer than ten minutes.

"You win this round, my friend!" Harry cried dramatically as he knocked over his own king in surrender. "One day I'll beat you!"

"Never!" laughed Ron as he started to collect up his pieces.

They had been playing for a good hour, and both their moods had improved dramatically as they had got lost in the competition. They had both needed it...

"What's got you two so happy?" asked a voice from behind them, momentarily interrupting their good spirits. "Has Snape finally washed his hair to reveal the beautiful locks we all know are hiding under all that gunk – "

" – Or has Filch finally realised his lifelong ambition and married Mrs Norris?"

It was Fred and George and they were apparently in very good spirits. Unlike the last time he had seen them, the Weasley twins positively oozed wealth and success now. Both were wearing oddly tailored suits that looked as if they were made from dragon scales, and their smiles radiated the cheerfulness that Harry could only associate with the two identical Weasley's in front of him.

"What are you two doing here?" asked Ron, confused, as he finished clearing up the chess board.

"We're here to give Harry his birthday present of course!" replied Fred as he patted Harry cheerfully on the shoulder.

"Present?" asked Harry wearily.

"Is someone suspicious of little old us?" asked George in mock-hurt, holding his chest as if Harry's words had physically hurt him.

Harry, though, was not convinced.

"I heard," Harry began cautiously, "that your joke shop was doing well. I doubt anyone would be surprised if a trick or two appeared in a totally innocent looking present..."

"Ah, well, maybe we are not entirely innocent these days," George smirked with no small amount of pride. "However, even we would not be stupid enough to prank our benefactor."

"Now," said Fred with the air of a showman, "that we have determined that our present is safe from pranks, would you like to have it?"

"Okay," replied Harry, still slightly cautious.

"Ta daaa!" sang Fred, as George produced Harry's present with a flourish. It wasn't wrapped.

"Firewhiskey?" said Harry uncertainly as he looked at the bottle in George's hand with no small amount of aprehension.

"Yep," replied George cheerfully as he placed the bottle down and conjured four glasses.

"It was Sirius' idea, really," explained Fred. "He took us aside last Christmas."

"Said that it was up to us," continued George as the twins puffed out their chests importantly, "to make sure _you _had a good time for once."

"Sirius said that?" asked Harry quietly, with a sad, wistful smile on his face.

"Just stop for a second -" said Ron with a small frown on his face.

"Don't be a spoilsport Ronnikins," interrupted Fred.

"Yeah," said George, "You're starting to sound like Perc...I mean, a prefect."

No one was in any doubt about who George had been about to mention, but it was clear to Harry that Percy was still a sore subject amongst the Weasleys.

"It's not that," Ron said with a scowl, although whether it was because of the fact that Percy had been mentioned or because the twins were winding him up, Harry didn't know. "Mum and Dad are staying in the tower. You know mum's not going to approve."

"You make a good point little brother. Ideas?" asked Fred, looking round the common room.

"The Room of Requirement," said Harry quickly, excited by the prospect of having a little fun for once.

"Brilliant," said George. "Well, let's go. They'll be back from dinner soon."

"Onwards!" cheered Fred, brandishing the bottle as if it was a sword. Harry couldn't help the laugh from escaping as he followed the twins and Ron out of the Common room. They could never fail to cheer him up.

* * *

><p>When they finally entered the Room of Requirement, the boys found a relatively empty room. In fact, all they could see was a small wooden table in the centre of the room, with four reasonably comfortable chairs surrounding it.<p>

"This room is brilliant," said George as they sat down. He closed his eyes for a second and almost immediately four classes appeared in front of him. With a big beaming smile on his face when he noticed the apprehensive looks that Harry and Ron were giving the alcohol, he poured generous amounts into each of the glasses. He winked over to his twin, and with a smirk, Fred winked back before turning back towards Harry and Ron.

"So, birthday boy first," said Fred cheerfully, as he pushed the glass of Firewhiskey towards Harry.

"It's not my birthday anymore," said Harry with a grin, as Ron eyed his own glass.

"Technicalities, technicalities," said George. "Now, drink."

Harry picked up the glass, and with a mock salute towards the twins and Ron, downed the whiskey in one gulp. The liquid burnt his throat as it went down, and he had to make a colossal effort to prevent himself from coughing. He didn't want the twins to think he couldn't handle it.

"Not bad, my friend," said George with a pat on the back when it appeared that Harry had gotten over the sensation. He took his own drink and downed it quickly; he didn't seem to have as much trouble as Harry had had.

When Ron took his, however, he spluttered as he swallowed.

"Not b-bad," Ron coughed, and Harry at to stifle a laugh at the constipated look expression that had appeared on his best friends face.

"Shut up, you git," said Ron once he had regained his composure, and Harry laughed outright at that. "Your turn again."

Harry took a refill from George, and brought the glass to his lips once again. Determined to drink this one with a bit more dignity Harry took a deep breath and swallowed the amber liquid quickly. It went down much more easily this time.

* * *

><p>The bottle slowly began to empty as it continued to move around the table. Ron, who had been feeling alright at the start, was starting to feel a bit less under control as time progressed. His arms were starting to feel heavy, like he couldn't quite control them how he wanted to, and his vision was starting to blur a bit. For a moment, he idly wondered if this was how everything looked to Harry when he wasn't wearing his glasses, but from some reason his mind wandered away from this line of thought.<p>

As he looked over to his best friend, another thought took precedence.

Harry was currently laughing almost hysterically at a joke that certainly hadn't been that funny, and both twins were sat across from his with bemused looks on their faces as they watched their friend in apparent hysterics.

"I am the eggman!" sang Harry loudly, completely out of tune, but blissfully uncaring. "I am the walrus! Goo goo g'joob! Whoa..."

"Bloody hell, Harry!" exclaimed Ron as Harry wobbled and fell backwards off his chair.

"Owww," mumbled Harry from his new position on the floor. He had stopped laughing and singing now, and was instead rubbing his back in pain.

"How many has he had, George?" asked Fred amusedly as Harry struggled to pick himself back up again.

"Not sure, Fred," replied George as he got up and helped drag Harry back onto his chair.

"I'm fine," slurred Harry, his head lolling down to his chest. "Fine, fine, fine, fine fi – "

"Okay, you're fine," laughed Ron. "We get it mate. Maybe you should take a break from the Firewhiskey for a bit though." Ron was certainly feeling the effects of the alcohol, but his best friend had certainly come off worse. Harry was well and truly drunk.

"M'fine," confirmed Harry with an exaggerated nod that almost overbalanced him again.

"Course you are," said Fred cheerfully. Neither of the twins seemed to be much affected by the drink at all. Ron guessed it wasn't their first time. "You're Harry Potter; you're always fine!"

"Nope," replied Harry, and then he began to laugh almost hysterically from behind his hands, as if he was keeping a secret.

"What do you mean?" asked George, the smile falling quickly from his face.

"M'not always fine," replied Harry matter-of-factly, although the effect he was trying to produce was somewhat ruined when he tried to take another drink. He somehow managed to fill the glass and bring it to his mouth, but his arm wasn't quite obeying him properly, and he ended up with most of it on his t-shirt instead of down his throat. Harry didn't seem to mind this too much, as he continued his story, completely oblivious to the surprised and concerned looks on the faces of the Weasleys.

"When aren't you fine, mate?" asked Ron.

"Lots of times. At the Dursleys, I set a snake on Dudley–Duddy-Duddikins once. Definitely wasn't fine then. Not as bad as when I flew onto the school roof though."

"You flew?" asked George.

"Yep," replied Harry, blissfully unaware of the awe upon George's face. "Wonder if I can still do it..."

Before any of the Weasleys could stop him, Harry pulled himself onto the table and stood up swaying dangerously. He seemed to close his eyes for a second before diving head first off the table, with a cry of "Superman!"

Before the twins or Ron could even stand, Harry landed hard on the floor, his glasses flying off his face as he rolled over onto his back.

"M'fine," Harry said almost immediately, looking up at them from his position on the floor as the three Weasleys rushed over to him.

"Can't fly though," he announced, with a small frown on his face.

"Do you have a death wish, you idiot?" asked Fred amusedly as Harry tried to pick himself up. After a few failed attempts, and after realising that he wasn't about to receive any aid, he seemed to decide to just stay sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Don't want to die," mumbled Harry, as he shook his head. "Volde-shorts...no, Volde-warts...no, wait, what's his name? Oh, I know...it's Tommy. Well..._Tommy's_ gonna kill me."

"Harry – "

"No, s'true," Harry slurred. "The prophecy says so."

"I thought the Prophecy was destroyed mate?" said Ron with a frown.

"Was," replied Harry as he started to lie down on the cold, hard floor. "Dumbledore told me afterwards. S'me. S'always me."

"But – "began Fred.

"No... more... talking," interrupted Harry as he closed his eyes. "M'tired..."

And within seconds Harry was fast asleep, despite the fact that he was sprawled uncomfortably on the hard wood floor.

* * *

><p>Harry woke slowly the next morning, his head throbbing painfully in rhythm to his beating heart. He groaned and shifted on whatever he was lying on. All he could tell was that he wasn't on his bed in the dormitory. Harry cautiously began to open his eyes, but almost immediately snapped them shut when the light of the room blinded him, and caused the throbbing in his head to increase.<p>

He was never drinking again.

He wasn't even sure exactly what had happened last night because his memories of the time were a little blurred. He vaguely recalled jumping of a table, but other than that, last night remained a mystery to him. Harry knew he had let himself go a little bit more than he would have in normal circumstances, eager as he had been to find a distraction from his troubled thoughts regarding his destiny. He cursed Fred and George under his breath as he tried once more to open his eyes, squinting at the bright light as he tried to determine where he was.

From what he could see of his surroundings he was currently lying in the Gryffindor common room on one of the soft sofas in the corner. Harry groaned once again as he tried to sit up, his stomach churning uncomfortably. He felt awful. He was _never _drinking again.

"How are we feeling this morning?" asked a voice from behind him that was far too cheerful for Harry's liking.

In answer Harry simply mumbled something incoherent as he lay back down again, eager to go back to sleep if it meant he could escape this unbearable headache.

"Oh no you don't," they said, and Harry felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him back up into a sitting position. Another hand shoved his glasses onto his nose, and Harry turned to see his tormentor.

In front of him stood Lupin, and the all-knowing and smug expression on his face told Harry that his ex-professor knew the exact cause of his current condition.

"Good morning," Lupin said, rather more loudly than was strictly necessary. When Lupin smirked at Harry's grimace, the teenager's suspicions were confirmed; Lupin had at least some idea what had happened last night.

"I don't need a lecture," said Harry bluntly in reply, his voice hoarse as if he had spent a great deal of time shouting.

"I wasn't going to give you one," replied Lupin, the smirk still on his face. "I reckon you've learnt your lesson, yes?"

"Mmm..." mumbled Harry, as he tried to stand. A hand kept him seated on the sofa, and Harry was beginning to worry that he was in trouble. What exactly had he done last night?

"Where's Ron?" he asked. "And the twins?"

"In their beds, sleeping it off," Lupin replied cheerfully. "Apparently though, they decided that you'd be fine on the sofa. They didn't exactly want to drag you up the stairs, and you weren't really in any condition to protest."

"Sorry," Harry muttered as a blush rose across his cheeks. "I am never drinking again."

Lupin burst out laughing at that, and Harry flinched at the loud noise. He looked closely at Harry and, after a moment of scutiny, seemed to decide to take pity on the young man. He pulled a small vial out of his robes, and handed it to Harry who looked at his wearily for a moment, before simply taking it and downing it in one.

Almost immediately his headache lessened and the room stopped spinning slightly. He looked up at Lupin with gratitude as he even felt his stomach settle back to its normal state.

"Sirius and James discovered that potion after a particularly loud party in Gryffindor tower at the end of our fifth year," Lupin told Harry, with a wistful expression on his face.

"Thanks," sighed Harry gratefully, finding himself able to drag himself up to his feet with wobbling dangerously.

"Normally I would make you suffer," Lupin said sternly, although his smirk betrayed his amusement, "but Dumbledore asked me to let you know that there is going to be an Order meeting this morning, and if you decide you want to go, I really don't think you can turn up to that hung-over."

"What's going on?" asked Harry as he caught the excitement in Remus' voice.

"It's Fudge," replied Lupin, "We think we've finally got him!"

"What?" gasped Harry.

"He won't be able to get out of this one," said Lupin with the air of a man who hadn't heard good news in a long time and wanted to make the most of it. At Harry's questioning look, Lupin continued.

"He attacked a muggle," Lupin told him as Harry started to smooth out the clothes he had slept in last night. "He completely lost it and started shouting out that he was under attack from a death eater. Shot a stunning spell at an innocent old muggle man. The Obliviators had a field day. He finished!"

"Has he been arrested?" Harry asked as the unbelievable information started to seep in.

"No," Lupin answered regrettably. "They couldn't catch him and he's gone into hiding."

"Damn," Harry cursed.

"Actually this works in our favour," Lupin consoled. "With Fudge out of the picture, it makes it easier for us to get someone in place who could do a better job; someone who will actually help the Order instead of trying to oppose us."

"That makes sense, I suppose," conceded Harry as tried and failed to stifle a yawn. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. "Is that all that the meeting's going to be about?"

"Pretty much" answered Lupin.

"Then I might give it a miss this time," Harry said.

At Lupin's raised eye-brows, Harry moved to explain, "I could do with a bit more sleep."

"Alright then, Harry," said Lupin as the ex-Professor moved to the portrait hole. "Oh, I nearly forgot; Dumbledore wants to see you in his office after the meeting. He mentioned something about some extra lessons."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, intrigued about the one on one lessons with the Headmaster. After that Lupin left, obviously eager to get to the meeting, but Harry, who was not as desperate for information as he had been last year, was quite happy to miss it. He knew that he could trust Professor Dumbledore to inform him of any important developments. Instead, Harry lay back down on the sofa, and with a much calmer head than he had woken up with, he drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

><p>After waking in a much more pleasant manner than he had first thing in the morning, Harry took a shower and changed his clothes, well aware that although the effects of the Firewhiskey had left his system thanks to Lupin's potion, he still stunk of the alcohol.<p>

Feeling much more refreshed, Harry wandered down the deserted corridors towards the Headmaster's office, excitement filling him as he considered what Dumbledore could possibly be about to teach him. Whatever it was, Harry vowed that he would do his best to learn. If anyone was going to be able to teach him what he needed to know to survive a final encounter with Voldemort, it was the venerable Headmaster. That, and anything had to be better than trying to learn Occlumency.

Knocking gently on the outside of the office door, Harry was unsurprised to hear the headmaster greet him cheerfully and bid him enter. How the old man had known it was him, Harry didn't know, but he had learnt long ago not to question the Professor.

"Harry," greeted Dumbledore with a smile, as Harry quietly entered the room. "How are you feeling? Remus mentioned that you were a little under the weather."

Harry almost spluttered, but managed to contain himself. "I'm fine Professor."

"Hmm," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes, and Harry was certain that the Headmaster already knew that his illness had been self inflicted.

"Now, my boy," the Headmaster said, gesturing to a chair for Harry to take a seat, "I believe I promised to give you some individual lessons this year."

Harry nodded, apprehension growing as he thought of all the complex spells and difficult magic that the Headmaster could teach him.

"I will not be teaching you magic," said Dumbledore shrewdly, and had the headmaster not been looking towards Fawkes, Harry would have thought he had performed Legilimency on him. "No Harry, what I will be teaching you, is everything I know about Voldemort. Who he was, and how he became the monster he is today."

At Harry's slightly sceptical look, Dumbledore continued unperturbed, "It is vital, my boy, to know who a man is, in order to discover their weaknesses. It is my belief that you will need this information as soon as possible, which is why we find ourselves enjoying these lessons before the school year has even begun."

Harry nodded in acceptance and leaned slightly more forward in his chair in anticipation of the tale that he knew the Headmaster was about to tell him.

Glad to see that he now had the undivided attention of his student, Dumbledore looked into the green eyes of the teenager in front of him, and asked the question that he knew would take both of them a journey that neither would be able to turn back from.

"Tell me Harry," he said, as he looked at the teenager from above his half moon spectacles, "have you ever heard of a family called the Gaunts?"

* * *

><p>AN- Okay, so I got Harry drunk. Does it make you feel better if I say that I feel bad about it? I just figured he deserved to rebel, let loose and enjoy himself for once. And let's face it, it is definitely something the twins would come up with. Oh, and how do people like the way I've written Ron? In almost every fic I've read, Ron is presented as petty, rude and jealous, but I don't think that's the way he should be. Yes, he made mistakes, but I think sometimes people forget the 11 year old Ron who followed his friend down a dark trapdoor to confront Voldemort, and who willingly sacrificed himself so that his friends could go on. He's brave and strong, and a good friend, but not perfect. Hopefully that came across. Oh, and to anyone who thinks this story is moving too slowly, it's about to pick up pace, so please don't give up on it. Anyway, let me know what you think!

Coming up... _Chapter 15: Truths_


	15. Truths

**A/N- **Sorry for the slightly longer wait for this update- I found it really hard to write for some reason. It's a bit of a weird chapter, this one. It's kind of a filler- not the most exciting, but important for the overall story arch. I really needed to keep the story moving, I think, but not a lot happens yet I'm afraid. Trust me though- this is all building up to one of the main story lines (one that's going to begin around chapter 19/20). It'll be worth the wait, I hope, so please stick with it! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed etc so far, and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: <strong>Truths

* * *

><p><em>Some people fight, some people fall.<em>

_Others pretend they don't care at all._

_If you wanna fight, I'll stand right beside you._

_The day that you fall, I'll be right behind you._

'_**The Heart Never Lies,' McFly**_

* * *

><p>The final weeks of the summer passed in a haze of hot summer days and late nights in front of the fire, and it was not long before the inhabitants of Hogwarts, even those who were not teachers, were kept busy in preparation for the new school year. The professors were rarely seen outside their offices, so caught up were they in their lesson preparations.<p>

The Order members, too, rarely had any free time; when not on individual missions, or at their day jobs, they could be seen patrolling the grounds and corridors of Hogwarts, trying to ensure that every available safely option was put in place. Harry knew that they were doing this as much for him as they were to keep the school safe, but for once he could accept the extra precaution; what kept him safe, kept the other students safe too.

Since the rush had started to get the school ready for a new year, Harry was not surprised that he hadn't had another lesson with the Headmaster, either about Voldemort or Occlumency. After the first lesson, though, in which Dumbledore had begun to teach him about Voldemort's past, Harry found that the information he had been taught had given him a lot to think about, so it didn't bother him too much.

It helped, though, that Harry himself was also kept busy, because it meant that not only did he have less time to brood, but he also slept better when he went to bed exhausted. Harry's lessons with Moody had continued almost daily, and even he had begun to see some improvement in his duelling ability. He still didn't stand a chance against Moody's attacks, but the old Auror had enlisted the help of Tonks as a duelling partner for Harry, and at least against her he could last a couple of minutes before she took him out. Ron, true to his word, had begun to sit in on the lessons too, but he was very reluctant to start duelling lest he end up like Harry; flat on his arse.

Now, as the summer drew to a close, Harry sat alone in the Common room, early one morning, waiting for Ron to come down for breakfast. Deep in thought, he was able to acknowledge the good these lessons were doing, and he found that he felt forever in Moody's debt for taking the time to train him. Although Harry was nowhere near good enough in his own mind yet, the small improvement he was making helped to stem the tide of uncertainty and panic that he had come to associate with his destiny and the Prophecy.

_The Prophecy._

Although the talks he had had with Dumbledore had helped immensely, the Prophecy still seemed to cloud his every decision and blacken every good mood with a small tinge of darkness wherever he thought about it. He knew Ron was worried about him, and had even caught the red-head giving him worried yet considering looks on occasion, but each time the expression was replaced so quickly with a warm smile that Harry was almost led to believe he had imagined it.

Almost.

He knew Ron suspected something; that he realised that there was something bigger bothering his friend than the mere threat of kidnap that had been a prevalent theme of the summer so far.

Harry also knew that he owed it to both his best friends to tell them the truth.

Hermione, who had been in Australia on holiday with her parents for much of the holiday, had decided to return to school the night before term began, rather than arrive on the Hogwarts Express as usual. Although the train was set to have the best protection possible this year due to Voldemort's 'official' return, Hermione believed, and Dumbledore agreed, that it was not necessary for her to risk it when she could easily come to Hogwarts a day early by other, less risky, means.

Harry had decided, rather rashly, to tell them about the Prophecy on the night Hermione arrived, rather than wait until term started. His only problem now was how to broach the subject. It was a life-changing moment, he thought, to have to tell his friends that his life was forever inextricably linked to Voldemort, and that if they followed him, their lives would be also. He could not ask them to stay by his side, however much he needed them to, without first ensuring that they had all the facts.

But how to break the news?

He really had no idea how to broach the subject. What he needed, he realised, was someone to give him advice; someone he could talk to without any judgement attached to the discussion. But who? No one was even aware of the Prophecy and in order to tell them he would have to overcome the very problem he was trying to ask their advice of. No one knew, except...

It was so simple that Harry cursed himself for not thinking about it earlier. For there was someone who knew about the Prophecy, and what's more they had already had suffered through the unfortunate task of revealing the said Prophecy.

Dumbledore.

If anyone knew about breaking news like this, it was the old Headmaster. Making up his mind, as the worry reached almost impossible levels, Harry decided that would try to talk to the old man as soon as possible, before he could talk himself out of the idea altogether.

Growing up at the Dursley's, Harry had never really been able to ask anyone for help, advice, or even comfort, because there simply wasn't anyone there for him. Now, after five years at Hogwarts, he was finally able to see that asking for help was not just acceptable, but also encouraged. He was starting to finally see that there were people he could trust, not only with his secrets, but also to help him. People who cared.

Harry was pulled rather abruptly from his troubled thoughts as he heard footsteps on the stairs leading from the dormitories.

"Morning Harry," said a sleepy Ron as he greeted his best friend. "Breakfast time?"

Ron grinned when Harry nodded in reply, the red-head becoming more awake as his stomach growled in anticipation of food.

_It can wait until after breakfast, _Harry thought, fully aware that he was putting off the talk with Dumbledore, and not caring in the slightest as he and Ron made their way out of the portrait hole and down the corridor in companionable silence.

* * *

><p>"Sir, can I speak to you for a moment," Harry asked Dumbledore nervously once the Headmaster had finished his breakfast, ignoring the odd look that Ron was giving him. "You know...in private?"<p>

Harry aimed a small glare at Snape, who was currently sat beside the Headmaster, in an attempt to match the intensity of the sneer that had been on the Potions master's face since Harry had first approached the table. It seemed to annoy the Professor even more, a fact that caused Harry to feel a little triumphant despite his worries.

"Why, you little – "

"That's enough Severus," warned Dumbledore, with a stern look towards Snape. He turned back towards Harry before continuing, "As it happens, I have a few minutes free before a scheduled staff meeting. My office, Harry?"

Harry nodded, and proceeded to walk out the Great Hall after a hurried goodbye to Ron and a promise to fill him in later, studiously avoiding the furious gaze on the face of the Potions Professor and the worried expression of his best friend.

* * *

><p>"So, what can I do for you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore kindly, as he absently stroked Fawkes.<p>

Harry didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to sit quickly in one of the ornate chairs opposite the Headmaster's desk.

"Any news on Fudge yet?" Harry asked Dumbledore, avoiding the slightly concerned gaze of his Headmaster, instead focusing his attention on the slightly sweaty hands that rested in his lap. Harry wanted to put off the conversation he had asked for, for as long as possible, his nerves momentarily getting the better of him. He didn't want the Professor to think he was weak, or that he couldn't handle anything, but he had to ask...

"Not yet, I'm afraid," replied Dumbledore with a troubled look upon his face. Harry knew that the Order were still searching for the elusive ex-Minister, and were expending almost as much effort in locating him as they were in trying to replace him. Apparently it was not yet enough.

"Do we know who's going to replace him?" Harry asked curiously, despite his nerves at the impending conversation.

"It looks as if it will be Scrimgeour who will take over the post. As you might be aware, due to the official return of Voldemort, willing applicants have been particularly hard to find."

"And is he a bad replacement, Sir?" Harry asked somewhat shrewdly, noticing the small frown of his mentor's face as he revealed that information.

"I do not know, Harry," replied Dumbledore honestly. "Rufus, as Head of the Auror Office, is certainly not going to act in the same way as Fudge, and he is most definitely not sympathetic to Voldemort. He is tough, ruthless even, but sometimes...I worry that he will forget why we fight."

"You mean, you're worried he'll turn out like Crouch," Harry mused, as he thought about Dumbledore's words for a few moments. "That he'll ignore his morals, and become as bad as the Death Eaters. That he'll become _too_ tough..."

"Exactly, Harry," Dumbledore replied, obviously pleased that his student had grasped his meaning so quickly without taking his words the wrong way.

They were silent for some time then, and Harry could see that Dumbledore's mind was working furiously on matter's Harry would never comprehend.

"Forgive an old man's musings, Harry," said Dumbledore absently after quite a few minutes, as he pulled himself out of his thoughts. "And do not worry yourself over Rufus. As I said, he is no Fudge, and perhaps it is wrong of us to judge a man when he has not yet had a chance to act. He may yet prove me wrong..."

The troubled look on the Headmaster's aged face belied any belief in the old man's faith in the Auror.

"Now," continued Dumbledore, much more cheerily, as he clapped his hands together, obviously in an attempt to lighten the mood, "what seems to be the trouble, Harry? I doubt very much that you asked for a private meeting so that you could discuss the problems facing our political sphere. What is it that you wanted to ask?"

"Erm...well, it's about the Prophecy," began Harry nervously, worried about Dumbledore's reaction to the topic. He was not disappointed as the twinkle left the old man's eyes, and his shoulder's drooped considerably.

"It is far too great a burden to be placed on one so young," Dumbledore said sadly, talking more to himself than he was to Harry.

"It's not that...I mean, I'm not having trouble dealing with it. Or I am, but that's not why I need help," Harry rambled anxiously. "I've thought about it, and...it's just...I want to tell Ron and Hermione."

If Dumbledore was shocked, his face did not betray it, although Harry did catch a glimpse of a smile before it disappeared into the aged face.

"I know no one's supposed to know about it," Harry continued quickly, before Dumbledore was able to respond, "but I know them, and they won't tell anyone. I can trust them."

"I daresay you can," replied Dumbledore. "Well, I for one, have no problem with it."

"You...you don't?"

"No, my dear boy," replied Dumbledore evenly, with a twinkle in his eyes. "In fact, I am pleased that you have sought to share the burden with those who you cherish. I had worried that you would choose to keep such a burden to yourself."

One piercing look from the Headmaster instantly quashed any notion Harry had about lying to the old man.

"I was going to, at first," Harry admitted, "but...they deserve to know. They've been with me through everything, and I know they won't leave me or anything...but..."

Harry struggled to finish this thought,

"But," supplied Dumbledore, "you feel as if it would be wrong to hide this information from them. That it would be taking away their right to choose their own path."

At Harry's nod, Dumbledore sighed, but he couldn't help the small, proud smile from invading his aged face.

"Once again you have proven yourself to be a far wiser man than I could ever be, Harry. For your entire life, I decided to keep the very same information from you in order to protect you. You treat your friends with much more respect than I ever afforded you."

Harry didn't know how to respond to this, and so, ignoring the blush that had crept onto his face, he tried to find a way to express in words the root of his current problem.

"I can't make this decision for them. They should know what they're getting into...you know, by sticking by me," Harry agreed. "It's just...how do I tell them?"

"There is no easy way to do it, I'm afraid. You must just say the words, Harry," Dumbledore replied sadly, clearly lost in the memory of when he had had to deliver the fatal news. "The rest, I daresay, will come."

Harry nodded soberly, but he felt the constriction in his chest lessen slightly. He had known that there would be no easy answer, but somehow knowing that even Dumbledore had struggled with the task helped him somewhat.

"Thanks, Sir," Harry said sincerely. "Do you know when Hermione is supposed to arrive? I only want to have to say this once."

Dumbledore looked saddened by that, but he still answered almost at once, "Young Miss Granger is due to arrive this evening, at about six o'clock if all goes to plan."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and made his way to the door, pausing once more as he turned round to face his Professor.

"Thanks for your help, Sir," Harry said quietly. "I really appreciate it."

And he did. As he walked down the stairs and onto the deserted corridor, he thought about how strange it felt to have people, adults, that he could truly count on. Dumbledore had perhaps not held the magic formula Harry had hoped for, but just airing his concerns had helped him to feel better about the whole situation.

He couldn't deny that he was still extremely anxious about delivering the news, but he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

He would tell them tonight.

* * *

><p>Hermione took a close look at the face of her dark haired best-friend, noting the nervous looks he had been giving her and Ron, almost from the moment she had stepped through the doors of Hogwarts. Something was bothering him, and judging by some of the stories that Ron was telling her of the boys' summer so far, that list could be quite long.<p>

They were sat in their favourite chairs in the Gryffindor common room, left alone by the other occupants as they got ready for the arrival of the rest of the school tomorrow, and Hermione could barely contain her emotions as she heard the events of their summer with a heavy heart.

"How do you know so much?" Hermione asked, as Ron finished telling her about Fudge and his possible replacement. "You haven't been eavesdropping again, have you?"

"Harry's been allowed to go to some of the meetings," Ron replied with a smirk, obviously relishing the chance to prove to Hermione that they had in fact done nothing against the rules this time.

"You're in the Order?" Hermione asked, unable to prevent her surprise from entering her expression.

"Not quite," Harry replied, placating her. "I think Dumbledore just wants to make up for last year. He's been really good about everything actually."

"He's even been giving Harry some private lessons," interjected Ron, with no hint of jealousy in his voice or expression; a fact for which Harry would be eternally grateful for. Harry was quite prepared to share with his two best friends everything that Dumbledore taught him, but it was nice to know that Ron trusted Harry to do that anyway. Ron really had grown up over the summer.

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful," Hermione exclaimed. "I wonder what he's been teaching you. I bet there's so much complex magic you could learn from a wizard like Dumbledore."

"He's not teaching me magic," injected Harry quickly before Hermione could think too much on the subject.

At Hermione's somewhat confused look, Harry decided that now was not the time to explain. He had something that he had to tell them first, and he couldn't put it off any longer.

"I'll explain later," he said quickly before Hermione could ask any more questions. "There's something I need to tell you both first."

"Is this something to do with the Prophecy?" asked Ron, looking over to his friend with concern. Harry looked back at the red head in surprise.

"How did you – "

"You were quite talkative when you were drunk," Ron explained with a shrug, ignoring Hermione's shocked exclamations upon hearing that they had been drunk.

"Oh...well, yeah it's about the Prophecy," Harry said, taking a deep breath to steel himself, as he prepared to say the fateful words. "I know what it said..."

* * *

><p>The beginning of school finally arrived, and it was with a slightly apprehensive mood that the teachers of Hogwarts seated themselves at the staff table in order to wait for the returning students, and the welcoming feast that would follow their arrival.<p>

Voldemort's official return had left the whole faculty on alert, not just for attacks from external forces, but those from inside the castle walls too. The allegiance of certain students had always been in question, but now loyalties would be tested and relationships within the school would be no doubt more strained than usual, a fact that the Head of the Slytherin House, in particular, knew only too well.

Severus Snape did not even try to hide his distain as he watched Potter and his side-kicks enter the Great Hall and make their way slowly over to the Gryffindor table. Their slow, deliberate movements had captured more than just his attention, and he had to hide a scoff as he noticed almost every member seated at the staff table look over to the three in concern.

Snape could barely contain his indignation as he studied the three students, angry that they had once again been given special treatment. Arriving earlier than every other student was bound to start the gossipers talking; a fact that would no doubt enhance Potter's celebrity status, and add to the boy's already large and over-developed ego. This had only added to the Potion master's ire at the teenager.

There was more to it though, he thought, as he surreptitiously observed his most hated students. Potter had been acting oddly all summer.

It had started, of course, with the boy's dramatic arrival at Hogwarts, far earlier than anyone expected. Albus, true to his character, had been entirely tight-lipped about the whole thing, but Severus had posted some discrete enquiries to Minerva, who had decidedly more to say on the topic.

There had been concerns over Potter's home life, she told him, and it had been decided that it was no longer a fit place of residence for the boy.

No doubt Potter's relatives simply didn't coddle him and treat the brat like a prince.

_As everyone else seems to do,_ Severus scoffed mentally. Although...

Doubt swirled around Severus' mind as he pondered the topic further. Albus was not a man to make a decision like this lightly. He knew as well as Severus that the boy's place was at the centre of the war, and that his survival was paramount to their eventual success. To this end, the blood wards erected at Number Four, Privet Drive were vital. For Dumbledore to forsake this protection...

Something was not right.

Or perhaps, Severus convinced himself, Dumbledore was simply trying to please the boy, after failing him so spectacularly last year.

_Yes, that must be it,_ he thought, adding a further scowl to his face as he observed the three Gryffindors quietly chatting. Albus had always given Potter special treatment, as if he was the boy's grandfather rather than his Headmaster. He was always allowing the boy to do whatever he pleased, whether it broke the rules or not.

Now, as he studied the three students, he couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong. They were up to something; there was no other explanation.

Maddeningly, Granger and Weasley kept shooting Potter concerned glances, and although this was mirrored by the Weasley girl as she joined the three at the table, it was as if she didn't even exist. Potter spared her a small smile, but Weasley and Granger just kept their focus on Potter, almost as if they were afraid he would disappear if they took their eyes off him for even a second.

This action confirmed it. Potter was up to something.

They certainly look nervous, Snape thought scathingly as he subconsciously started planning out a punishment for the three. But was it nerves? Something was different about them, and knowing Potter like he did, Snape knew it was nothing good.

"What's wrong with Granger and Weasley, do you think, Minerva?" asked Filius, as he too watched the trio with some interest. It seemed like every staff member had their attention locked on the trio, all except Dumbledore who had not arrived yet. "They're looking at Potter rather strangely, are they not?"

Minerva seemed to agree, "They all look so serious, for ones so young. Especially Potter."

Severus scoffed as he followed their gaze back to Potter and his sidekicks. He did not, like his colleagues, believe that the trio needed their sympathy. If anything, they should all be prepared for trouble. Those three had the ability to find it anywhere, and it would no doubt be left to him, Severus Snape, to clean it up.

Snape was pulled from any more of his furious thoughts when Dumbledore himself strode into the Hall, heading straight over to the Gryffindor table. Severus could not evade the small amount of jealously that had entered his heart as he watched Dumbledore place an aged hand affectionately on Potter's shoulder as if to comfort him.

They were speaking now, too quietly for Severus to hear, but even from this distance he could not miss the small proud smile that had reached the aged lines of Dumbledore's face as Potter informed him of something. Snape almost scoffed aloud, but he managed to conceal the action by taking a sip from his goblet.

Dumbledore had always denied that he favoured his students, but Snape was no fool. Albus treated Potter like a grandfather would treat his favourite grandson. The boy constantly broke the rules, placed himself and his friends in frequent danger, and all Albus ever did was pat him on the head and console the brat.

But no matter what Albus said to him, no matter what the other teachers reported about the boy, he, Severus Snape, knew the truth.

Potter would always be like his father; arrogant, disrespectful and lazy.

Always.

* * *

><p>AN- So, thoughts? Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts has officially started (finally!), but can Harry finally have a quiet, trouble-free time at the school? I think it's a tad unlikely, don't you? Not my best chapter in my opinion, but constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks for reading, and if you've got time, let me know what you think!

Coming up... _Chapter 16: Welcome and Unwelcome Returns_


	16. Welcome and Unwelcome Returns

**A/N- **Hello, once again! A new chapter has arrived- and for the record, these are possibly the most relevant lyrics I've found for any chapter in this story so far. The words seem as if they were almost written for Fudge, Umbridge and the Ministry! Anyway, never mind that now- on with the story! Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: <strong>Welcome and Unwelcome Returns

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><p><em>Corrupt, you're corrupt,<em>

_Bring corruption to all that you touch._

_Hold, you behold,_

_And beholden for all that you've done._

_And spin, cast a spell,_

_Cast a spell on the country you run._

_And risk, you will risk,_

_You will risk all their lives and their souls._

'_**Take A Bow', Muse**_

* * *

><p>As he watched the students traipse into the Great Hall, slightly damp from the rain that had just begun to fall, Harry tried valiantly to ignore the looks that both Ron and Hermione were giving him, as well as the looks that Ginny was giving all three of them.<p>

Ron and Hermione had taken the news of his impending destiny well, Harry thought, and he couldn't be more grateful to them, but the new way that they were looking at him now had him slightly concerned. Were they going to treat him differently from now on?

They weren't going to desert him, he knew that, but were they still going to see 'just Harry' or would they forever view him in relation to Voldemort from now on?

He had been thinking about telling Luna, Ginny and Neville as well, since they had gone to the Ministry too, but now he was having second thoughts. Ron and Hermione had been incredibly supportive, more so than he felt he deserved, but he didn't like the fact that he seemed to be losing what he had always treasured most from their relationship; the chance to be treated normally.

The chance to _be_ normal.

Even though he felt relieved by the fact that his friends now knew his greatest secret, he couldn't help but mourn the chance he had had for a normal life. It had never hit him so clearly before now, he realised, watching as the new and extremely nervous first years paraded through the Great Hall, that he couldn't be that person anymore.

As much as he wanted to be 'just Harry', he knew that it simply wasn't meant to be. He had a job to do now, a duty even, and he was not going to let anyone down. He was going to kill Voldemort, and he was going to make sure the world would never have to suffer his presence again, or he was going to die trying. The fact that Ron and Hermione had not deserted him in that quest meant more than he could ever tell them, and it was enough.

In truth, it was all he could ask for.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling madly as he looked out over to his beloved students both new and returning. The sorting had been fairly quick and straightforward, the feast was magnificent, and now everyone was just waiting for Dumbledore to dismiss them, so that they could return to their dormitories and sleep.<p>

"Now, before we all head off to our beds," Dumbledore continued, and a few of the older students groaned, "there are still a few announcements that have to be made."

His face grew serious for a second, and Harry was suddenly made to feel nervous by the tone in which Dumbledore was speaking. The normally jovial Headmster had rarely sounded so serious.

"As you will all no doubt be aware," he began, "Voldemort has returned."

Even though this was common knowledge by now, gulps and whispers still followed the statement. The fact that Dumbledore looked so grave did little to reassure anyone.

"Let me assure you," Dumbledore continued, his voice projecting the power in his words, "that Hogwarts is safe. I must warn you though," at this point Dumbledore's gaze wandered across the Hall to all his students, although he seemed to waver somewhat at the Slytherin table, "that if any one of you jeopardises that safety, the punishment will be extremely severe."

His tone of voice was as harsh as Harry had ever heard it, and as he looked out towards the Slytherin table, Harry noticed that Malfoy had paled considerably upon hearing Dumbledore's threat. Harry had little time to ponder the implications of this reaction, though, because Dumbledore had begun speaking again.

"One further announcement," said the Headmaster, his tone lightening considerably. "Due to recent developments, it has been decided that a student defence club will be officially formed. The club, which was banned last year by the now ex-Headmistress, is now reinstated, and will be run by the original organisers."

Dumbledore looked over to Harry at this point, and Harry thought he could detect a hint of pride in the older man's expression.

"Harry, would you like to say anything more?"

"Oh, er...okay." Harry stood up somewhat nervously. Just before the rest of the students had arrived, Dumbledore had asked him if he'd be willing to give some information to the school about the DA. Harry had said yes rather impulsively, he thought, and was now completely regretting his answer as he saw all eyes in the hall shift to him.

"Erm, the club will be open to anyone this year, no matter what ability, or house," he continued trying to inject some semblance of confidence into his voice. "The first meeting will be sometime next month, when everyone's had a chance to settle in a bit. We'll let you know nearer the time. Also, some of you will remember Professor Lupin?"

"The best Defence teacher we ever had!" yelled out Dean to much applause.

"Yeah," continued Harry with a grin, as his confidence grew. He was not an attention-seeker, as much as Snape wanted to believe it, and he rather hated talking in front of the whole school like this. At least this time people were looking at him curiously rather than with any kind of anger. "Well he's agreed to help out."

Cheers erupted around the Gryffindor table in particular, but their joy was short lived...

"Heh, hem."

The simpering, annoying voice sifted through the Hall from the large wooden doors at the entrance, reaching Harry in a way that almost made him shiver. Harry had been so caught up in his announcement that he hadn't noticed that another person had entered the Great Hall. Nor, it seemed, had anyone else, Harry noted, as hundreds of heads turned to face the new guest at the feast.

_She could not be here. She couldn't possibly..._

"We'll see about that Mr Potter," simpered a voice that Harry had hoped he would never hear again. He heard heels clicking on the stone floor as the owner of the voice made their way into the centre of the Great Hall, but still Harry did not turn around; he did not want to believe what his senses were telling him. He did not want to believe that she had returned.

"The Ministry frowns upon such dangerous half-breeds teaching children."

Harry growled, but stood unmoving at his position at the Gryffindor table in an effort to control his temper.

"Delores," greeted Dumbledore, perhaps sensing that Harry's control over his anger was slipping. "How can we be of service to the Ministry today?"

"Albus," Umbridge said, but the sweet tone was unable to contain the contempt in her voice. "Since Cornelius is regrettably _unavailable, _I believe it is my duty to ensure that Hogwarts is as safe as can be. It seems I have arrived just in time. I'm afraid the Ministry does not approve of unauthorised clubs, especially those run by _troubled_ youths. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have returned, but that is no reason to let such lax practices continue – "

"You're wrong!" Harry said angrily, finally swinging round to face his ex-Professor. "_He-Who-Must-Be-Hyphenated_ is the reason we formed the club at all!"

"Harry – "

"No!" interrupted Harry without taking his glare off Umbridge. "I've had enough of _her_!"

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was aware of a hand grabbing his shoulder, obviously trying to hold him back, but his anger at Umbridge had taken over and he shrugged it off, marching over to the place she was stood with a fury that he had not felt in a long time, completely disregarding the fact that he was losing his temper in front of the whole school, as well as all his teachers.

"You _dare _come back here?" Harry asked scathingly, and he was pleased to see her flinch under his glare. "You and your damned ministry _dare _to try and interfere at Hogwarts after what happened last year."

"I am merely here for a long overdue inspection into the administrative practices of this school, Mr Potter," she replied, taking on the tone of a person talking to a very small child. "There will be nothing to worry about, if the school has nothing to hide."

She glanced condescendingly over to Professor Dumbledore who merely looked on serenely, but Harry couldn't care less that the Headmaster didn't seem remotely bothered by the barely veiled threat. He didn't even care that the entire school was watching this confrontation.

"No!" Harry cried suddenly, causing a few of the first years sat near them to flinch. "I will not just sit and watch while you idiots interfere in the _one _place that is safe from Voldemort!"

"Mr Potter–" began McGonagall, obviously trying to calm him down, but Umbridge interrupted before she could.

"Mr Potter," Umbridge simpered, seemingly unperturbed by Harry's outburst, "perhaps you do not understand. I am here only for the safety of the children. There have been a number of concerns voiced from our more _prominent _families about some of the practices that have been occurring in this school as of late. I am thinking only of what is best – "

"What's best?" Harry roared, completely forgetting that he was shouting at his ex-defence teacher in front of the whole school and all his teachers; his anger had gotten the better of him. "What's best? It would have been best for the Ministry the acknowledge Voldemort's return when he was first reborn _over a year ago _instead of burying their heads in the sand! It would have been best for the Ministry to send a _competent _employee to teach the students to actually defend themselves, instead of sending you!"

"There was nothing wrong with my teaching methods," she replied angrily, seemingly making a move towards her wand before glancing up at the staff table and apparently thinking better of it.

"Oh no, of course not," Harry scoffed, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm, before he allowed anger to seep into his words. "You didn't even teach us magic! Anyone would think you didn't know how to perform it. Or maybe that's it? Are you little more than a squib - ?

"Where were you this summer?" she interrupted, having obviously decided that it was time to go on the attack, and apparently not appreciating the squib comment at all.

"I fancied a nice holiday," Harry replied sarcastically, after shooting a somewhat concerned glance to Dumbledore which thankfully Umbridge missed. How did the Ministry know he had left the Dursleys'? And more importantly, did Voldemort know as well?

"Mr Potter, you were not at your relatives' house this summer. It is my duty as a Ministry official to ensure that you have had adequate living conditions during the school holidays. Now, I ask you again; where were you?"

"None of your business really," Harry said nonchalantly, whilst all the while his anger was bubbling under the surface, barely constrained. "And if you're anything like you were as a Professor, there's really nothing you can do to make me tell you."

"How dare you! You insolent – "

"How many other students had the pleasure of one of your _'special'_ detentions," Harry interrupted. "Or was it just me who was treated with that particular _honour_?"

Her face turned pale as he mentioned this, and he found some satisfaction in the fact that she suddenly looked extremely nervous, anxiously glancing towards the staff table.

"Ah, I assume your bosses don't know about that then, hmm?" Harry said, with the threat clear in his expression as he glared fearlessly at her. "I'm almost certain it's illegal. Perhaps I should enlighten them..."

"I did nothing wrong," she replied somewhat hoarsely, barely concealing the fear in her voice.

"Oh, I think we both know that isn't true," Harry said scathingly, "And after all, Delores, _one mustn't tell lies_."

Harry didn't raise his hand to show her the scars that her quill had left there, but she got the message regardless. Harry glanced around the Hall, catching the gaze of the confused students that were sat around the Hall, staring at the two of them with undisguised curiosity. Even the teachers seemed too shocked by the argument to stop them, although a few had automatically grabbed their wands out of instinct.

"I think perhaps I was a little hasty in coming here today," Umbridge said shakily as she glanced nervously towards the teacher's table at the end of the Hall. "I will come back at a more appropriate time."

"If you want me to keep your 'little secret', you'll never show your face here ever again," Harry said icily. "You know, it's bad enough that Voldemort's back, without the Ministry going around making things worse. I've had enough of people like you! Leave now and never come back, or I swear I _will_ make you!"

When Umbridge didn't move immediately, Harry walked closer to her, only stopping when he was within touching distance of her.

"Get. Out."

She took one look at the cold and barely contained fury in his eyes, and upon seeing no mercy there, turned and walked towards the exit, in as close to a run as she could get without actually doing so.

The noise her pink heels made echoed around the otherwise silent hall, only stopping when she had reached the large wooden doors. To the students' further amazement, she turned to face Harry once more in a final show of defiance, or perhaps in an attempt to keep what was left of her dignity.

"This isn't over, Potter," she spat out, her dishevelled appearance belying any control she had left over the situation.

"Of course it is, Professor," replied Harry mimicking her sweet tone, but soon his tone turned harsh. "Voldemort is back, remember? We've all got bigger problems to worry about. You don't scare me. He does."

Umbridge had attempted to match Harry's glare, but had been unable to prevent a terrified gasp at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"I won't ask you again Delores," Harry said nonchalantly, fingering his wand in a silent threat. He knew it was risky to openly confront a Ministry employee in front of so many witnesses, but his anger at the woman had pushed him past the point where sense still mattered. "Leave. Now."

And she did, flustering her way out of the Great Hall doors, and away from Hogwarts, leaving a silent hall full of shocked students and Professors behind her.

"Like I was saying before, the DA is open to anyone. Sign-up sheets are with your Head of House," Harry said calmly to the stunned hall, although he was still shaking slightly in anger. He clenched his pale fist tightly, his nails digging into the skin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and calm down before I attack something."

And with that Harry stalked out of the doors without looking back at the shocked expressions that he knew he was leaving behind him. His anger had clouded his judgement up until now, but suddenly he felt drained, and he needed to escape the questions that he knew had to be asked after a confrontation like that; he just needed some space.

* * *

><p>The students all looked around each other, stunned at the outburst from the usually amiable Gryffindor student; an action that was shared by all those at the staff table. The hatred that existed between Umbridge and Harry had been well known gossip around the school in the previous year, and Harry's bravery was almost legendary, but no one had expected him to confront, and <em>threaten, <em>Umbridge in the way he had tonight.

In fact, almost every single student, especially each newly sorted first year, was silently but steadfastly thanking every known deity that Potter had not directed that anger towards them. He really could be quite scary...

CRASH!

A few of the students jumped, all heads turning towards the now closed Great Hall doors and to the loud noise of crashing and clanging metal that could be heard from the corridor beyond.

Before anyone could question what had happened to Harry, for it undoubtedly involved him, the noise was followed closely by a somewhat muffled curse just outside the Great Hall.

"Bugger, that hurt..."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, an action mirrored by Dumbledore and McGonagall on the staff table.

"Did he just...?" asked Hermione, her voice full of concern.

"Yeah I think he did," replied Ron grimly, as he tried to ignore the loud muttering that had been left behind in Harry's wake.

Judging by the racket that they had heard only moments ago, and knowing their friend quite well, it was quite obvious, to them at least, what had happened. Harry had punched one of the suits of armour that lined the corridors of Hogwarts, and judging by the result of his attack on the inanimate object, the suit of armour seemed to have fought back.

* * *

><p>Harry clenched and unclenched his aching hand, trying to nurse the injury as he walked purposefully out of the front doors and onto the grounds of Hogwarts. His hand wasn't broken, but there was no doubt that it would bruise tomorrow.<p>

It didn't matter though, he thought, as he raised his wand with his injured hand. Very soon, even the pain would fade away.

"Accio Firebolt," he said softly, his voice slightly muffled by the night-time wind.

Even though he was currently stood outside, he knew it wouldn't take long for his faithful broomstick to reach him. After the fiasco that had occurred the last time he had been on it, he was simply thankful that it was still in one piece. Apparently Bill had retrieved it after he had made sure Harry was alright, and Harry was extremely grateful to the eldest Weasley sibling. Quite apart from it being one of the only things Harry had left to remind him of Sirius, he rarely felt as comfortable as he did when he was flying on his Firebolt.

Now, as he waited for the spell to do its work, Harry finally allowed himself to take a deep breath. As he made his way into the centre of the Quidditch pitch, Harry truly hoped that no one could find him here, not for a while at least. He really needed to be free from the stares he knew would be on him almost constantly now, at least until his anger had left him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his broomstick flying through the air towards him. When it reached him, he took hold of it immediately, swung his leg over, and took off.

Almost as soon as he took flight, his worries, his anger, his pain, it all seemed to fade into nothingness. He began by doing gentle long laps around the pitch, revelling in the fact that the wind was hitting his face and blowing his hair. He had never felt so free, and for one blissful moment he wasn't The Boy Who Lived or even The Chosen One. He was just Harry; a boy flying on his broom without a care in the world.

He didn't know how long he was flying for, but the blackness of night soon enveloped him, and it was becoming harder and harder to hold onto his broom in the chilling night time wind. He was seriously considering calling it a night now that he had calmed down, but he found himself reluctant to return to the stares and questions that would no doubt find him in the Common Room.

Harry, however, was pulled out of any further musing on the matter when he noticed a small light coming from the top of the teacher's stand. Apparently someone was watching him.

Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that the last time he had been on his broom he had almost been kidnapped, but he knew almost instinctively that this person meant him no harm. He flew slowly over to them, having realised that his night time flight had been rumbled.

As he moved closer, he saw the illumination of a face. It was Professor Dumbledore, and Harry was suddenly nervous. He knew that he had completely lost his temper before, and had been completely out of order, but he honestly couldn't help the reaction he'd had to his ex-Professor. She just made him so angry.

Resigned to his fate somewhat, Harry glided gracefully over to the stand, and dismounted. He picked up his Firebolt with his good hand, and walked up the steps to where the Headmaster was seated, his wand lighting the path.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said quietly, his cheeks rosy red, although whether this was from embarrassment or from the chilling wind, it wasn't clear. "Sorry I kind of lost it in there."

"You left quite a situation behind you, I must say," Dumbledore said lightly, and Harry was relieved to see that Dumbledore wasn't angry. The Headmaster did, however, frown slightly.

"Harry, could you tell me," he began hesitantly, almost as if he was afraid of the answer, "were you feeling any foreign emotion? Anger, perhaps, that did not belong to you?"

"Actually, that was all me," Harry said somewhat sheepishly, although he understood why Dumbledore had felt the need to ask. "I'm pretty sure Voldemort had nothing to do with it."

In truth, his anger was a culmination of a lot of things, and as they sat in the cool night-time air, surrounded by the empty stands, Harry suddenly felt the need to explain himself.

"When I was little, I used to be afraid of the dark," Harry began, talking to the night-time air instead of looking at his Professor. At Dumbledore's questioning look, Harry moved on to explain.

"In my first year in primary school, my cousin Dudley was jealous because I got a better mark than him in one of our first spelling tests, and he wanted to get some payback I suppose."

Dumbledore nodded to show that he was following Harry's tale; he was immensely curious to see the point that Harry was trying to make.

"Anyway," Harry continued quietly, "he told me that there were monsters that hid in the dark and ate children who didn't have any parents to protect them. I was terrified of course...couldn't sleep at all that night. I kept having nightmares, and then something would brush against me...and I'd jump a mile."

Harry gave Dumbledore a wry smile, but soon turned his attention back to the darkness of the night.

"I tried to go to Aunt Petunia, but she just told me to deal with it on my own," Harry said somewhat bitterly, and Dumbledore looked grave at the further reminder of Harry's troubled life at the Dursleys'.

"I was scared for days...terrified to go to sleep in case the monsters got me," Harry continued. "Then one night, I had a dream...a good one this time. I dreamt that I was older, tall and strong, and that I was a monster-chaser who tracked down monsters and destroyed them one by one. I even had a sword that I was using to kill all the monsters. That last part was kind of prophetic, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a sad smile, obviously recalling Harry's battle with the Basilisk, and Harry returned it before continuing with his tale.

"Anyway, I decided then and there that when I grew up, I'd kill all the monsters so that they'd never be able to eat any children ever again. Eventually, the nightmares went away, and I wasn't scared of the dark, or monsters, anymore."

Harry laughed but it was a bitter laugh that seemed to echo around the deserted Quidditch stands; a sound that was much more suited to a war veteran than a sixteen year old boy.

"And then I came to Hogwarts...and the monsters were real. Only not all of them were like I used to imagine they would be. Some don't even look like monsters at all, do they?"

There was a flash of understanding in Dumbledore's eyes, and the reason for Harry's tale became clear.

"Delores Umbridge" said Dumbledore after finally understanding why Harry was telling him this. "She is one of the monsters you speak of, I assume?"

Harry simply nodded. "She never scared me, not really, but that doesn't make her any less of a monster, does it?"

Harry took a deep breath, and released it slowly into the cool night-time air.

"It's hard to keep fighting sometimes," Harry said quietly. "It's getting harder and harder to pretend I could be the person from my dream. Sometimes, it feels like the monsters can't be defeated."

"Is that why you were so angry this evening?" asked Dumbledore, his expression full of concern and understanding.

"She shouldn't have been able to come back," replied Harry, clenching his fist. "Once the monster's gone, it shouldn't be able to come back."

At this point they both knew that Harry was no longer talking solely about Delores Umbridge, and Dumbledore felt his heart ache with the pain that the boy beside him had been through in his short life.

"Why did you come here Harry?" he asked gently, gesturing towards the empty Quidditch pitch.

"I needed some air...some space I suppose."

"You should not have come here alone," Dumbledore said in an attempt to be stern, but the desolate state that he had found Harry with quelled his anger somewhat. Despite that though, he needed Harry to understand the potential danger he had put himself in by coming here alone. "Especially here, my dear boy. Someone could have tried to kidnap you again, and this time there would be no one to stop them."

"I didn't think...I'm sorry," Harry said apologetically, the full extent of his actions finally reaching him. It was true though; he honestly hadn't considered the ramifications of going for a fly. He had just known that he needed it. "I just needed to get out."

Harry fingered the handle bar of his Firebolt gently, thinking about the freedom that flying gave him in a way that nothing else did.

"I needed to be free for a bit," Harry said quietly as he looked out across the Quidditch pitch. "Somewhere where the monsters couldn't get me."

"You are not alone anymore Harry," Dumbledore said strongly, his blue eyes twinkling, not with mirth, but with power and conviction.

And somehow, even though the Prophecy still ruled his life, Harry knew that what his Headmaster was trying to tell him was true. His friends had not deserted him when they learned about his fate, and although there were a lot of monsters still left to be defeated, he knew that they would stick with him until the very end.

"Come along Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as they stood up, directing the teenager towards the stairs. "I will escort you back to the tower. It is not safe to be out so late alone."

Harry's face flushed as he was once again reminded of the danger he had disregarded. In fact, he was so embarrassed at the reminder that he almost missed Dumbledore's whispered words. He didn't though, and they floated to him as if from a dream.

"You do not have to face the monsters alone, Harry. Not anymore."

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><p>AN- So, how was it? I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Let me know what you think!

Coming up... _Chapter 17: A Call to War_


	17. A Call to War

**A/N- **Hello again! Before you start reading the newest addition, I'd like to point your attention to a new community that I've created recently for all those stories in which Harry finds a mentor of any kind. If you like this story (and I hope you do) then you're very likely to find more stories you like there. There's a wide range of story plots, so hopefully they'll be something for everyone to enjoy. If you've got a minute, I'd love it if you could check it out! Oh, and if you wanted to subscribe, I'd try to update it regularly with brand new, up and coming stories to make it worth it. Anyway, enough of that for now, on with the story!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 17: <strong>A Call to War

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><p><em>Don't be afraid, <em>

_What your mind conceives._

_You should make a stand,_

_Stand up for what you believe,_

_And tonight, we can truly say,_

_Together we're invincible._

'_**Invincible', Muse**_

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><p>"How's Potter, Albus?" asked Professor Flitwick as he casually reached across the table for a biscuit to dip into his tea.<p>

The question was asked in what appeared to be an entirely innocent way, but Professor Dumbledore wasn't fooled.

The first staff meeting of the new term had only just begun, and yet he already had their undivided attention and would have been hard-pressed to miss their barely disguised curiosity. The stir that Harry had caused, not just amongst the students but amongst the staff as well, was incredible, but not altogether unsurprising. Umbridge had been as unpopular with the staff as she had been with the pupils, and it was unlikely that there was a single person in the Great Hall last night who had not enjoyed seeing her get a severe dressing down.

"He seems to be alright, I think, Filius," replied Dumbledore guardedly, not wanting to betray Harry's privacy, but also realising that their curiosity would not be sated unless he told them something.

"You found him last night, then?" asked Minerva as she stirred her tea carefully. She had been quite concerned about her Gryffindor last night, and had been all set to join the search to find him. Albus had intervened though, and had suggested that he could deal with the situation himself. Apparently he had been right in that assumption.

"Yes, I did," Dumbledore replied. "He was understandably upset, but he had calmed down considerably by the time I arrived, and I escorted him back to his dormitory after we'd had a little chat."

"And I suppose he got a slap on the wrist after promising never to do it again," Snape interjected sarcastically, his sour attitude clear to all teachers present in the meeting.

Although Severus Snape had completely despised Delores Umbridge, his vindictiveness at the payback she had received was at war with the fact that it was Potter who had delivered it. The boy had done what Severus had been dreaming about doing since the toad had first stepped foot in the school, and Snape hated him all the more for it.

"Actually Severus, Harry has received detention, that he will serve every Saturday with me for the next month," Dumbledore said, trying to hide his smile. What he didn't tell them was that he was planning to use these detentions to continue Harry's lessons in Occlumency and also to further the teen's knowledge of Voldemort's past.

"We cannot have Harry's actions sending the wrong message to the students," Dumbledore continued lightly, hiding his smile. "It must not become common belief that it is alright to openly criticise the Ministry."

There were a few snorts, barely concealed, amongst quite a few of the staff members at this statement, and Dumbledore's eyes held their full twinkle. He suspected that they had all been waiting for someone to confront the Ministry about their many faults for some time now, and that they were all rather gleeful that it had finally occurred.

The Headmaster smiled to himself slightly as he looked around at his staff, taking in the satisfaction that each one was showing at the reminder of Umbridge's failed attempt at wrestling some control back into Hogwarts.

Dumbledore, however, was worried...

Although he didn't show it in his expression, Albus was concerned by some of the things that had come out in the confrontation, namely the clearly questionable nature of what Harry described as her 'special detentions', but, although it bothered him immensely, he realised that now was not the time to bring it up. He would have to do some discrete inquiries before he did anything about his suspicions. The Ministry might be more receptive to him these days, but an accusation of this weight would need to be carefully planned, and fully supported by evidence.

He had an uncomfortable, nagging feeling in his chest, however, that whatever he uncovered was not going to be pleasant for him and his staff to hear.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, shaking himself out of his musings, "onto the rest of the agenda for today's meeting..."

The curiosity and attention dropped dramatically after this, but no one could seem to prevent the smiles from staying on their faces.

Even though they had played no part in it, it really had been satisfying to see Umbridge finally get her comeuppance. The look on her face had been priceless, and Dumbledore suspected it was something his staff would cherish for many years to come.

* * *

><p>The week following his dramatic exit from the Welcoming Feast had been torture for Harry. Eyes followed him wherever he went, but unlike in previous years, where whispers had accompanied the stares, now there was only silence, and quite honestly, Harry found the whole experience completely unnerving.<p>

When Dumbledore had returned Harry to his Common Room late that night, the teenager had mentally prepared himself for the questions he knew would greet him as soon as he stepped through the portrait hole.

He was stunned, however, by the oppressive silence that greeted him instead. The normally boisterous Gryffindors were subdued, not in fear or sadness, but in awe and amazement.

_Anyone would think I had just defeated Voldemort,_ Harry had thought wryly, as he had made his way up to his dormitory in order to escape the uncomfortable environment. Upon finding the room wonderfully empty, Harry had collapsed onto his bed, without even changing into his pajamas, having been drained by the events of the evening.

His last thought before slipping into unconsciousness, had been one of worry; term hadn't even started yet, and already he was the talk of the school.

* * *

><p>Now, on his way to the Great Hall for breakfast before his second week of lessons, Harry had to force himself to ignore everyone as he walked quickly through the corridors flanked faithfully by Ron and Hermione.<p>

" - and then the poor girl almost fainted!" laughed Ron.

"She did not!" protested Harry, his face growing redder with each word Ron spoke.

Ron, however, remained oblivious to Harry's protests as he continued relaying his story to Hermione as they walked along the corridor.

Earlier in the week, Harry had overslept one morning, after his night had been plagued with nightmares.

As he was rushing through the corridors, keen not to be late for his first lesson of the day, he had been going too fast to stop himself flying into a poor, unsuspecting first year girl who had been late for her own lesson.

Having knocked them both to the floor, he had tried to help her up, but the poor girl had been terrified of him. She had screamed loudly enough to alert all the classes on the corridor to the commotion and had then promptly burst into tears. Mortified, Harry had tried to calm her down, but it had been to no avail. Eventually, McGonagall had had to take the girl to the Hospital Wing for a calming draft.

Ron had not let it go since.

"It was hilarious!" insisted Ron, still laughing loudly as he remembered the look on his best friend's face. "You could have fried an egg on Harry's face!"

"It's not that funny, Ron," said Hermione as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, trying to ignore the looks that had followed Harry as soon as he had entered the Great Hall.

Ron just shrugged in reply. "Look at it this way, mate," he said, as he began to load his plate with every bit of food within his reach, "At least they don't think you're evil this time. It could be worse."

Harry couldn't disagree.

In the past, Harry had gained the school's attention for everything from being accused of being Slytherin's heir, to the widespread belief that he was lying about Voldemort's return. Ron was right; even though he still didn't like the attention, it could be worse.

"I still can't believe Dumbledore gave you detention for shouting at Umbridge though," Ron said after swallowing a huge mouthful of sausage, much to Hermione's disgust.

"I told you; it's not really detention," Harry said, lowering his voice and looking round to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. "Dumbledore wants to use it as an excuse so that he can keep teaching me Occlumency."

"I think it's a good idea, personally," interjected Hermione, looking disapprovingly on at Ron, who had resumed his task of shovelling his food into his mouth as fast as humanly possible. "We don't want someone like Malfoy discovering what you're doing. And detention's a better excuse than remedial potions."

"I still think Malfoy's acting suspiciously," grumbled Harry quietly, yet again voicing his concerns that the Slytherin was up to something. He had no proof though, and with everything that had happened so far this year, he had been too distracted to think about it much.

"You always think Malfoy's up to something, Harry," said Hermione. Harry just shrugged in reply, since he really couldn't refute the statement.

"What've we got first today?" Harry asked, changing the subject as they were joined at the table by their fellow sixth-year Gryffindors.

"Potions," replied Hermione, and both the boys groaned. Even though Potions was now taken by Professor Slughorn instead of Professor Snape, the lessons had barely improved. Harry had never had a talent for the subject, but it turned out that according to Slughorn, his mother had.

Harry didn't know what was worse; the fact that his potions kept failing, or the fact that each failure was accompained by Slughorn's expression of disappointment every time he inspected Harry's work.

At least he still had Ron to suffer alongside him.

Harry, who had known that the OWL requirement for the subject had changed after Snape had transferred out, had been fully aware that he would be taking Potion's this year, but Ron apparently, had not. The red head had gotten an unpleasant surprise on the first morning when he heard the news.

Harry, who felt guilty for not telling Ron about the change, offered to share his textbook and supplies with his best mate, but Slughorn had told Ron that he could borrow some of the school supplies for each lesson until he could order his own.

Ron had been annoyed at having to use second hand stuff once again, even though it wasn't his fault, but it turned out that even though he had expected the textbooks to be in dire condition, he had found one that was relatively untouched. Harry was just glad he had been able to order his supplies; he didn't fancy having to fight over Ron for the one good copy left in the stores.

As they left the Great Hall, making their way down the corridor that would take them to the dungeons, Harry once again tried to ignore the stares that followed him. They had increased in the past week, largely due to the fact that the sign-up sheets for the DA had been posted in each Common Room, including the Slytherin one. The first meeting of the new DA would be in a week, and Harry felt his apprehension growing at the mere thought of all the people he knew would turn up now that Voldemort was a very clear and visible threat to them all.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, Remus was on a mission for the Order for the next month, and so Harry, whose nerves had reached an unprecedented level, had gone to Dumbledore one morning and had unashamedly begged the old Headmaster to supervise the first few meetings so that they didn't get out of hand.

When Dumbledore had accepted the request readily, Harry's relief was palpable in the air.

Anticipation was growing around the school as the day of the first meeting grew closer, but Harry's only thought was that he didn't want a repeat of the incident with the little girl. He didn't want the DA to turn into a circus show; they needed to take it seriously, and Harry knew that it was up to him to make sure that they did.

* * *

><p>Almost exactly one week later, as Harry looked out over the sea of eager faces that filled the Great Hall, he instantly regretted his decision to open the DA to more people.<p>

_At least half of every year group must be here_, he thought nervously.

He noticed that there was a good mix of the four Houses as well, although considerably less Slytherins than Harry had perhaps hoped for. Also, those that had turned up looked more set to cause trouble than learn. He mentally thanked Professor Dumbledore for supervising the first couple of sessions; if anyone could keep control of events, the Headmaster could, and hopefully when Remus finally arrived, he could continue in the same vein.

"Erm...Hello," began Hermione, addressing the mass of people in front of her nervously after receiving an encouraging nod from Professor Dumbledore. "I think we should start now. For those who weren't in the DA last year, our aim is really to learn to defend ourselves. Harry, you wanted to say something." She looked over at him expectantly, and he swallowed nervously as attention flew to him.

"Yeah, I did," Harry replied, trying to sound as authoritative as possible, but failing slightly in the face of all the attention. "Erm, I just wanted to make it clear; this club is not for fun." Silence greeted this statement, but it was clear that every person hung on his every word.

"This will not be a club where you can just hang out with your mates, or mess around," Harry continued, gaining confidence as he realised that he had the hall's complete attention. "This is real life. Voldemort– "

Harry stopped when the gasp rang through the hallowed hall. He had been expecting it, but it still annoyed him no end.

"It's...a...name," Harry ground out, trying to keep him frustration in check. "Just a name. Nothing more."

"Does anyone here know where Voldemort gets most of his power from?" he asked the Hall, as he looked through the sea of faces, hoping that someone would be brave enough to answer. He caught Dumbledore's eye at the back of the Hall, and the small nod of approval was all Harry needed to carry on. This needed to be said, and it seemed like he was the one who needed to say it.

When no one replied, Harry continued.

"What do you know about Voldemort?" he asked a timid first year Hufflepuff who was unfortunately standing in his line of sight.

"H-He's bad," the young boy replied, terrified at being called upon to answer by the Chosen One.

"Yes, he is," Harry replied with a smile, trying to put the young boy at ease. "Why?" He directed this to Zacharias Smith, who was looking entirely too bored for Harry's liking.

"Because he kills and tortures people," Smith relied, somewhat smugly.

"Yes, he does" Harry replied with a nod, "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Smith scoffed. "Why does he kill people? Because he's hates muggles and muggle-borns, of course!"

"Wrong," Harry replied, causing the Hall to erupt into chatter almost immediately.

"But You-Know-Who_ does _hate muggles!" cried a small fourth year Gryffindor over the noise that had followed Harry's statement.

"Of course _Voldemort_ does," Harry replied calmly, emphasising Voldemort's name. "All the death-eaters do. But that is _not_ why Voldemort chose the path towards the dark. That is _not_ why he kills and maims and tortures."

"Well, what then?" Smith sneered.

"Power," Harry replied simply. "And you give him that power. By being scared to say his name, it creates a fear of him that is greater than anything he could create himself!"

Harry took a deep breath, and looked across at the sea of faces in front of him. They looked scared, he noted, but not of him. It was clear that they were scared by the mere thought of Voldemort. Harry knew that it was something he'd have to change if they were ever going to challenge him.

"He kills people, and that's scary," Harry admitted. "He tortures people, and that's scary too! But it doesn't matter how scary he is; he has to be stopped! We have to fight! We have to be brave! If we let our fear get to us, then he wins! If we refuse to say his name because we're scared, he wins!"

A few of the younger students jumped at the increased volume of Harry's voice, but Harry barely noticed, so lost was he the point he was trying to make. It was important, he thought, that they understood.

"There's a difference between us and the Death Eaters, you know," he continued, trying to control himself and calm down. "We are at war with them, and we have very different views on how society should be, but what makes us really different is not our beliefs, but our reasons for fighting. The Death Eaters...they fight out of hate, out of fear. We...we fight out of love, out of friendship! We fight because we have something worth fighting for! Voldemort won't win, and Hogwarts won't fall, not so long as there are people who are still loyal to it! We just need to be brave enough to challenge him!"

Harry looked back towards the young Hufflepuff who had answered his questions so shyly before.

"Say his name," Harry said encouragingly, but the young boy still looked scared. "You are braver than a single one of his followers. Say. His. Name."

"V-Voldemort," the boy stuttered.

"Louder," Harry said with a grin, as the boy's face took on a shocked expression.

"Voldemort!" the Hufflepuff stated with confidence, his own face taking on a grin.

"Louder!"

"VOLDEMORT!" the boy yelled, and the Hall erupted into cheers.

"Who else is feeling brave?" challenged Harry, bolstered by the success of the small boy.

"Vold...Volde...mort," stuttered a third year Ravenclaw, earning himself a pat on the back from his peers.

"V-Voldemort!" shouted a brave seventh Year Gryffindor, and this was soon followed by other chants, some louder than others.

"VOLDEMORT!" cried Neville over all the noise, looking surprised at himself, his voice sounding loudly throughout the hall, leaving an awed silence in its wake.

"Wow Neville," said Seamus, looking at Neville in amazement. Neville however, seemed to have gotten over his shock and turned quickly towards his fellow Gryffindor, his expression hardening as his embarrassment disappeared.

"Voldemort is a bastard, Seamus," Neville said with an expression of anguish and hatred that no one had ever seen on the usually cheerful boy. "I'm not going to show him respect he hasn't earned. Harry's right; if we give in to the fear, he wins. By not saying his name, we're giving him what he wants!"

"Well said, Neville," Harry said with pride at his friend, causing Neville to blush profusely.

"Voldemort doesn't deserve our respect," Harry emphasised. "He's done nothing to earn it! He's powerful, yes, but if we fight together, we _can_ overcome him! But we have to stand together. It is only by uniting that we even stand a chance! We have to conquer our fears and learn to fight!"

A few pupils shifted uncomfortably, looking over to the few Slytherin students dotted around the hall.

"It doesn't matter which house you belong to, not anymore," said Harry, having noticed the hesitation. "Not now. It doesn't even matter who your family are! Voldemort won't care, I promise you! He'll kill _anyone,_ no matter what their blood status is! The only way to stop him is to defeat him, and the only way to do that is by working together! That's what this club is about."

"If you want to join us, then you need to take it seriously," Harry told the crowd who were looking at him with rapt attention. "We'll teach you how to defend yourselves against people who want to hurt you, but it will only work if you apply yourselves. We'll take you in different groups, according to skill level, but if you show any signs of improvement we can move you up into a different group. You'll only be taught things we think you can handle. You also need to be aware that this is not meant as a replacement for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Not this year anyway," muttered Ron from Harry side, and Harry was hard pressed to keep a straight face.

"Sometimes we'll even go over some of the things that you'll each be learning in Professor Snape's classes throughout the year, just so that you can have a little extra practice outside of lessons," Harry continued.

He looked over the crowd now, taking in the determination that was on almost every face.

"Anyone is free to join," said Harry, looking across the sea of faces with pride. "All you need is a little bit of courage. So who's in?"

As every hand in the hall rose into the air, with not one exception, Harry's hope increased to a level that he hadn't experienced since before Voldemort's return over a year ago. He caught Dumbledore's eye from the back of the Hall, and the twinkle he found there was unparalleled in Harry's memory. The pride was practically coming off the Headmaster in waves, and Harry couldn't help the smile that broke over his own face.

Maybe everything wasn't lost yet, Harry thought. Maybe together they could do this.

Maybe, even though they were just students, they could make a difference after all.

* * *

><p>AN- Thanks for reading! And a special thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited or alerted this story so far! Oh, and a word of warning: brace yourselves. The next chapter is where things start to get _really_ interesting...

Coming up... _Chapter 18: Tidings of Joy and Pain_


	18. Tidings of Joy and Pain

**A/N- **Hi to everyone still reading this story! Thanks for all the support you've given it! This is quite an intense chapter, and it took a lot of re-working to get it how I wanted, but I think I got there in the end. It skips quite a lot of the school year, but I hope the whole effect still works. Let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: <strong>Tidings of Joy and Pain

* * *

><p><em>Love: it will not betray you,<em>

_Dismay or enslave you,_

_It will set you free,_

_Be more like the man you were made to be._

**_'Sigh No More', Mumford and Sons_**

* * *

><p>Harry looked up from his position on the floor of Dumbledore's office, his brow dripping with sweat from his effort, and his face expressing the intense embarrassment of his failure to repel Dumbledore's attacks into his mind once again.<p>

"Sorry Sir," Harry mumbled as he dragged himself back to his feet.

"Do not trouble yourself, my dear boy," Dumbledore insisted with a frown. "Occlumency is a difficult skill to learn at the best of times, and our approach is only an experimental one."

"But I should be doing better!" Harry exclaimed, frustration leaking into his voice. "This is worse than it was before."

"On the contrary, Harry," Dumbledore said trying to placate the boy in front of him, "Failures are where we make the most progress. For how else do we learn, but by first making mistakes?"

"But I'm not improving at all!" Harry insisted as he made a valiant attempt to return his breathing back to normal.

As hard as he was trying, it was true.

Harry was not getting any better at the skill and, judging by the big headache that was starting to build up in his temple, success was not any more likely today than it had been at all that term. They had been meeting almost weekly, sometimes using the time to study Voldemort, sometimes to learn Occlumency, and even though his normal school lessons had been intense enough this term, Harry still marvelled at the amount of new information he was able to absorb from the Headmaster.

He had barely had a minute of free time at all during the term so far, what with his NEWT lessons, the DA, and the Headmaster's extra lessons, but in a way, it was a good thing. He hadn't continued with his lessons from Moody since school had started, but he still found that he didn't have time to brood, and his nightmares, though they still plagued him, were less intense when he was exhausted from the day.

He even had the added pressure of being Quidditch captain.

Professor McGonagall had taken him aside after the first NEWT transfiguration lesson of the year and had delivered the news with an apologetic and yet excited air. Apparently she had waited until that point to release the news because she had thought that he quite enough to be worrying about over the summer without adding Quidditch to that list.

At first Harry had been stunned and pleased by the news, but that feeling had quickly turned into panic. What with everything he was already dealing with, and he wasn't even including the Prophecy in that, he really wasn't sure where he would find the time to run the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

When he had voiced his concerns to his Head of House, the solution had quickly been provided. Harry would be the official captain, with over-riding authority, but the position would be effectively shared with Ron, who would help with tactics. Harry's red-headed best mate had been overjoyed at the news, and Harry's load had been considerably lightened, giving him time to work on his other areas of concern. Everybody was happy, and since they had already won the first Quidditch match of the year, due to a spectacular display by the whole team, no one could have any complaints over the arrangement.

With all the things that had been going on since then, especially the weekly DA meetings, Harry found that he was surprised by the speed at which the term passed.

Almost in the blink of an eye, Halloween passed by, and it was not long before the Christmas season began to descend onto Hogwarts. It was currently only two weeks until the Christmas break, and Harry was certainly ready for the holiday. Halloween had been quiet for once, but he just hadn't really had time to take a break from his study.

The Christmas holiday was just what Harry needed.

He was tired, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, things were starting to get to him. He was getting more demoralised by Occlumency, each time he attempted it.

Even with all the effort he was still putting in, he just couldn't seem to grasp it.

"Maybe we were wrong, Professor," Harry said dejectedly, as he looked up at his Headmaster. "Maybe emotion isn't the way to do it."

"Forgive me, Harry, but I stand by my original hypothesis," Dumbledore said somewhat apologetically. "I believe this is still the best option for you."

"But it isn't working!" Harry said frustrated, his desperation mounting with every failure he endured. "Explain it again. Please...maybe I'm just doing it wrong?"

Dumbledore looked as if he wanted to refute that statement, but something in the teenager's expression made him pause, and instead he took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing in a different direction.

"Perhaps we have been going about this the wrong way," Dumbledore mused as he sat down at his desk.

"You mean – "

"No, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore gently, correctly guessing Harry's concerns, "we do not have to return to our original method. An entirely new approach to this method perhaps?"

At Harry's nod of acceptance, Dumbledore gestured the boy to sit down, and the Headmaster stood up and took a seat next to him rather than sitting in his usual position behind his largely cluttered desk. Harry looked surprised at the move, but didn't comment.

"Okay, Harry," said Dumbledore softly, his voice almost a whisper as he turned to face Harry. "Now I need you to relax. Deep breaths. In...and out..."

The Headmaster looked on proudly as his student's breathing evened out almost immediately. Harry's eyes had closed shut instinctively, and the skin on his forehead had smoothed out to present a calm expression that looked almost foreign on the troubled teen.

"Good," Dumbledore nodded, keeping his voice as soft as possible. "Up until now, we have trying to see how effective it would be to focus on a particularly strong memory, but let's try something a bit different. Now, think back to when you were learning to cast the Patronus charm. Remember how you felt as you tried to recall your best memories. This time though, do not think about the memories, but focus instead on the emotion you felt. Allow it to fill you up. Can you do that?"

At Harry's almost imperceptible nod, Dumbledore raised his wand.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, hoping not to disturb the deep meditative state that Harry had allowed himself to be lost in.

"Yes," whispered Harry softly, opening his eyes a fraction to allow Dumbledore access. There was no trepidation in his expression, though, and Dumbledore felt hope rise in his chest as he noticed the complete change in attitude from the boy he had been talking to only moments before. He had never seen Harry so at peace, and he was almost reluctant to disturb it. He knew though, that he had little choice in the matter...

"_Legilimens."_

The sensation that the Headmaster experienced as soon as he entered the mind of the relaxed teenager in front of him was something he had never, ever, experienced before. The intense emotion that made up Harry's unconsciousness was almost overwhelming for the old wizard as he tried to make his attempt at an effective intrusion. It did not hurt the old Professor, and yet it was still almost too much to bear.

To Dumbledore's consternation, and pride, he found that it was impossible to even sense anything other than the emotion that Harry was currently feeling and projecting. There wasn't even an inkling that there was anything deeper to Harry's mind; even though Dumbledore knew for a fact, having seen them numerous times in the past few weeks, that the memories existed, he could not, no matter how hard he tried, find them.

Finding that his task had finally been rendered impossible, Dumbledore withdrew gently from Harry's mind, unable to prevent the small smile from remaining on his face as Harry pulled himself out of his meditative state.

"Wonderful, Harry," Dumbledore praised. "Simply incredible."

Harry shook himself, as he brought himself back into the present.

"It worked then?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I did not access even one of your memories," Dumbledore confirmed, further shocking the young man seated in front of him. Seeing the surprise, the Headmaster elaborated on the experience, since it was clear that Harry had not even felt his intrusion at all.

"I have never felt anything like it," Dumbledore continued proudly. "The "sound" of the emotion, if you will, was loud enough to drown out everything else. It was as if there was only the feeling."

"So you couldn't see my memories and thoughts then?" asked Harry quickly as the Headmaster's words finally sunk in.

"Harry, my boy," answered Dumbledore with a smile, "it was as if there were no memories and thoughts there at all. I knew they were there, of course, but they were hidden to the point that I could not even detect their presence, let alone access them. It was a perfect, if unconventional, effort at Occlumency. Your mind was shielded completely from my intrusion."

"So...I can do Occlumency? I can do it?" Harry asked desperately. The idea that he might have finally able to have learnt the skill that had troubled him for so long was almost too difficult for him to comprehend. Hope rose in him as he looked up and saw the pride in his Headmaster's expression.

"Your mind was impenetrable," Dumbledore replied, trying to reassure Harry that he had finally accomplished that which had once seemed impossible. "If you felt Voldemort's presence at any point in the future, all you would need to do is repeat what you achieved today, and your mind would be protected. He would have no more success at accessing your thoughts and memories than I did."

"Oh," Harry said, looking so overwhelmed that Dumbledore sensed it was time for a break.

"I think that is an excellent place to leave today's lesson," the Headmaster said lightly, waving his wand and conjuring a tray of tea and biscuits. "Would you like to stay for some tea? There are a couple of things that I'd like to discuss with you before the holidays."

"Erm...okay," replied Harry, as he took the cup of steaming tea that Dumbledore had placed in front of him.

"So, Harry," began Dumbledore, eager to change the subject from Occlumency, sensing correctly that Harry needed some time for the extent of his success to sink in. "Tell, me – how is the DA progressing? I have heard some wonderful reports from the Heads of Year."

"It's going pretty well, I think," Harry replied, taking a sip of his tea in an attempt to hide his blush. "Everyone seems to be working hard, and no one's messing around. I think having Remus there really helps. He really is a good teacher."

"He said the same about you Harry," Dumbledore mentioned, his eyes twinkling madly as Harry's cheeks reddened dramatically. "Why, even Professor Snape does not have a bad thing to say about the club. It seems that his students are picking up his lessons much more quickly than he had at first anticipated."

"Oh, er...wow," Harry replied, not sure how to deal with this new revelation. He decided to change the subject instead of trying to find an adequate reply. "Are you looking forward to Christmas, Sir?"

Dumbledore laughed outright at this, clearly spotting Harry's obvious change of subject, but he answered regardless.

"I always look forward to Christmas, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Such a wonderful time of year, don't you think?"

"I've been invited to visit the Burrow this year," Harry said, trying to seem casual. He let his eyes fall down and began to play with a thread on his jumper.

"Oh, and what seems to be the problem?" asked the Headmaster, sensing that something was bothering his student.

"Well, I can't go, can I?" said Harry bitterly, his voice betraying his true emotion even if his expression did not. "It's too dangerous. They've only just secured the Burrow again...we can't risk it. Look what happened last time. I wasn't even there, and they were still attacked because of me!"

"Harry, my boy, calm down," Dumbledore said softly. "I have added my own protections that, although they won't be suitable for a long term residence, should be more than sufficient for the holidays."

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, hardly daring to hope.

"Only a member of the Weasley family will be able to cross the wards uninhibited. Anyone else wishing to breach the wards would have to be accompanied by a Weasley."

"So it's safe?"

"Harry, not even I could cross the wards without a Weasley allowing me to," insisted the Headmaster with a smile.

"So I can go?" asked Harry, his eyes begging for confirmation.

"I daresay Molly would skin me alive if I prevented her from having a chance to fatten you up," replied Dumbledore with a smile, although the Headmaster sobered up quickly as he remembered something else he had been meaning to discuss with the teenager in front of him.

"I was wondering, though, Harry, if you would like to make a detour on our way to the Burrow. I have already asked Arthur if he is willing to accompany us, and he is happy to escort us both to the Burrow afterwards."

"Okay," replied Harry, intrigued and slightly confused. "Where is it that you want to take me?"

"Well, I was wondering," began Dumbledore tentatively, unsure of how his student would react, "have you ever visited Godric's Hollow?"

When his question was only greeted with a shocked silence, Dumbledore continued.

"There is a graveyard there," Dumbledore told Harry quietly. "I thought you would perhaps like to visit– "

"Are...are my parents there?" Harry asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied sadly. "As are my own mother and sister. I find that Christmas is a good time of year to pay them a visit. I wondered if you would perhaps like to join me this year."

"Yeah...erm... yes, I'd like that," said Harry with some difficulty. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're quite welcome, my boy," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "Now, I think perhaps you should return to your common room, and tell young Ronald and Ginevra that you will be able to join them for the holiday season."

Harry stood up, and quickly wiped a hand across his wet eyes as he left, his thoughts no longer on Christmas with the Weasleys but instead in remembrance of his other family, whom he would be visiting soon as well.

* * *

><p>On the first evening of the holidays, Dumbledore and Harry walked along the quiet, snow-covered path to the graveyard in silence, after leaving Mr Weasley waiting at the kissing gate to give the two privacy.<p>

Both were lost in thought, and welcomed the isolation that the walk gave them.

Harry, who had never known the family that he had lost at such as young age, was currently hiding a maelstrom of emotion. In the last few days he had felt everything from intense sadness to anger, even at one point bordering on happiness that he was finally going to be with his parents, even if it was only in spirit.

His friends had been great recently, taking his mood swings in their stride, but he was glad for their absence now. He did not have the energy, as he followed the Professor's path along the snow tipped gravestones, to hide his emotions any more. It had been bad enough to see the statue of his parents and the baby version of himself on their walk through the town, but he didn't think he could take it if he had to hold it in when he finally saw his parent's graves.

Harry chanced a glance over to his Headmaster, and noticed that Dumbledore had paused by a dark granite gravestone, the stone contrasting greatly against the bright white snow.

After hesitating a moment, Harry followed the trench that the Professor had left in his path until he reached the old man and was close enough to read the names on the two names on the stone.

_Kendra Dumbledore._

_Her daughter Ariana._

This must be Dumbledore's mother and sister, Harry thought, a fact that would have been self-evident even discounting the appearance of the names. The look of intense grief on his mentor's face had been enough to tell Harry that the Headmaster had reached the place he had come to see.

Not wanting to interrupt the man in his moment of grief, Harry allowed his eyes to wander to the quotation that could be found just below the names.

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._

"I chose those words," came a quiet voice beside him, shaking Harry out of his thoughts. Dumbledore had finally noticed Harry's presence at his family's grave, but he didn't seem angry.

Just intensely sad.

"I'm sorry, Sir," said Harry softly, unsure of what else to say.

"As am I," came Dumbledore's uncharacteristically grief stricken reply. "Now, Harry. If you could give me a few moments alone, I would appreciate it. I think you will find your parents are over in that direction."

Dumbledore pointed to his right, indicating a row of graves only two behind those of the Dumbledore family. "You will be quite safe, and if you need me for anything – anything at all – just shout and I will be there in a flash."

Harry walked slowly over to those graves, trepidation and anticipation warring with each other as his emotions fought for dominance. He was scared, and yet excited. He was happy, and yet he was sad. He had never felt this way before, except for when he had encountered the Mirror of Erised earlier in the summer. This experience was similar in a way; he was being reunited with his family once again tonight, but not in the way he had always dreamed of as a small child.

No; never like that.

His shoes left a melted trail in the snow as he traversed the rows of the buried, searching each name on the grave with reverence and intensity. Every time he spotted a familiar name, his heart gave a jump, but he moved on quickly, eager as he was to find the names he had craved seeing for years.

And then he saw it.

The white stone of the grave seemed to shine out into the darkness, making it easy to read the names inscribed on its surface.

_JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER_

_BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960_

_DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981_

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

He walked slowly over to stone, and ran a shaking hand over the letters he found there, as if to convince himself that they were real.

They were there, he told himself, as he pulled his hand back in order for him to hug his arms close to his chest. He had never been so close to them.

The tears began to fall then, making their travels down his cheeks before disappearing off his face to land on the cold, white snow. He made no attempt to stop them, nor did he even try to wipe them away. There was no one who could judge him here, and he honestly wouldn't care if there was.

All that existed for Harry in that moment was the ground beneath his feet, and the two names in front of him.

He did not know how long he stood there for, just staring at the white marble, but he was eventually pulled back into the present when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The grip was reassuring and tender, and Harry knew that the hand belonged to his Headmaster. He turned his slightly, possibly to ask the Professor whether it was time to go, but words failed him when his own eyes met those of his mentor.

Those blue depths held such emotion, such understanding, that the hot tears returned, even more rapidly than they had before. He was horrified by his lack of control in front of a man he so respected, but he could no more stop the tears, than he could stop breathing.

Dumbledore, it seemed, understood even that, and it was with a gentle action that the Headmaster turned the teenager around fully, and brought his arms around the body that was shaking with pure emotion.

No words were spoken, and yet no words were needed, as both simply allowed themselves a moment to grieve in a way that neither had really ever had the chance to do.

They stood for what seemed like an age, the old Headmaster's arms wrapped around Harry in a gentle embrace, with the younger man's tears falling freely into the purple robes that enveloped him.

As the chill picked up, though, Dumbledore gently released the teenager to find that, although the tear stained cheeks betrayed his emotions, the tears themselves had stopped.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry said, wiping at his eyes furiously as if trying to erase his embarrassment.

"Never be sorry for that, Harry," Dumbledore replied sternly, although his sympathy was clear. "You never have to be sorry for showing grief. It is what separates us from Voldemort. It is what gives our lives meaning."

"Yes, Sir," Harry nodded, his hand dropping back to his side.

"I think it is perhaps time for us to make our leave," Dumbledore said softly, his aged hand still placed on Harry's shoulder in a reassuring grip. "Are you ready to depart for the Burrow? I daresay Arthur is wondering where we have gotten to."

"Okay, Sir," said Harry quietly. He took one last, longing glance towards the grave of his parents, before turning and making his way back to the gate they had entered at, his heart feeling oddly lighter despite the grief that settled there.

* * *

><p>"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley as she brought him straight into a bone crushing hug, completely by-passing her own husband who simply walked past them and on into the living room to greet his children, a fond smile on his face. "You're just in time. We've just started to decorate the tree."<p>

She released him almost reluctantly, and gave him a gentle nudge through the door into the living room.

"Go on in, Harry," she continued warmly. "Ron and Ginny are there, and they've been pestering me all day, asking me when you'd arrive."

Harry gave her a small smile, the traces of his tears all long gone now, and took her advice, walking towards the doorway. He paused just before the threshold, however, to turn around and look back towards his escort.

"Thanks, Sir," he told Dumbledore, the sincerity clear in his bright green eyes. "I really appreciate it. Really."

"You're quite welcome, my boy," Dumbledore replied with a smile, his heart lightening as he took in the expression of gratitude and sincerity in the teenager before him. "Quite welcome."

Harry nodded and left then, and Molly turned towards the old Professor, just in time to see the pride on his face before he regained control. Molly had seen it though, and her heart warmed at the relationship the two had found with each other.

"Albus, would you like to stay for a while?" she asked kindly. "I have some mince pies baking in the oven..."

"Alas," Dumbledore replied with a warm smile, "I'm afraid that I am needed back at the school. Thank you, though. Give my thanks to Arthur as well, will you?"

"Of course," Molly answered returning the smile. "And the offer still stands if you change your mind."

Dumbledore simply smiled to the Weasley matriarch, his eyes the only part of his expression that betrayed his regret at having to turn down the offer.

"Merry Christmas, Molly," he said. "Give my best to your family."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Albus."

The Headmaster left then, and walked down the lonely path away from the Burrow. Once he reached the spot where the ward borders ceased, he apparated on the spot, returning to Hogwarts alone.

* * *

><p>Christmas at the Burrow, Harry found, was even better than at Hogwarts.<p>

At school, the whole experience was created on such a large scale that Harry often felt overwhelmed by it. Having not enjoyed the holiday much in the past, to come to Hogwarts and see it celebrated with such enthusiasm often made him feel a little uncomfortable. It was great, and the Christmas feast truly was spectacular, but it was nothing in comparison with the Burrow.

The small rooms of the Weasley home were confined, but that only led to a comfy and homely feel that was especially welcome on the cold winter nights. The decorations (that Harry had helped put up on his first night there) were not over the top, but rather well worn family heirlooms, that held more meaning than anything that magic itself could create. The tree was small, but perfect in the way that it fit cosily into one corner of the room, making its presence known without overtaking the room.

It was perfection, and it was made all the better for the people he was sharing the holiday with.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the Weasleys were his favourite family in the world. Even though both Hermione and he were essentially outsiders, they were never once made to feel that way. Even old, long standing family traditions were altered slightly to include them.

Now, as they sat around the large table, enjoying a delicious home cooked meal for Christmas dinner, after having spent a few minutes listening to Mrs Weasley's favourite singer, Celestina Warbeck, on the Wireless. Fleur, who Harry was surprised to find was dating Bill Weasley, and had thus been invited to spend Christmas with them, had not been very impressed with the music, and the experience had been quite awkward and frosty as a consequence.

As she began to lay down the sprouts and potatoes, Mrs Weasley was still being a little off with the French girl, but Harry suspected this was more to do with the possibility that she was fearing the loss of her oldest son to married life, rather than anything Fleur herself had done.

All real or perceived hostility was forgotten, though, when the magnificent turkey was brought out, and they all enjoyed a wonderful Christmas feast in the company of good people. Remus and Tonks had joined them for the celebration, which only added to the jovial atmosphere as Remus spun a number of entertaining tales from his time as a Marauder. The meal was delicious, and the talk was relaxed and happy. It was exactly how Harry had hoped Christmas with the people he loved would be.

The only surprise was the arrival of the one Weasley family member who had not been invited.

Percy.

It was not until the food had already been happily consumed that they heard a knock on the front door. Mrs Weasley ran straight to rip the door almost off its hinges when she heard her son's unexpected call from the other side.

"Percy!" she cried, pulling her middle son into a strong hug, as if she would never let go. He was stiff in her arms, but she didn't seem to notice. In fact, Mrs Weasley was so focused on her 'lost' family member that she brushed past the companion that Percy had brought with him.

"Minister?"

"Hello, Arthur," said Scrimgeour, looking slightly uncomfortable at the manic state that Mrs Weasley had worked herself into. "Young Percy here was so excited to see his family, and we were in the vicinity, so I really couldn't refuse him."

"Merry Christmas, Mother," Percy said, rather stiffly, but no one was buying it, not even, it seemed, was Mrs Weasley, who had pulled her arms away from him as soon as Scrimgeour had started to speak.

"I was wondering," began Scrimgeour, seemingly unperturbed by the icy atmosphere that had followed his announcement, "since I have you here, young Harry, if I could have a private word."

"I'd rather not," Harry replied as he tried to ignore the piercing gaze that the Minister was observing him with. "And I think it's really low of you to manipulate this family's feelings in order to get what you want. Dumbledore was right, you're really no better than Fudge!"

"Harry – "

"No mother, he's right," Percy said, although his voice was clipped in a way that was quite unnatural. "I did not want to come here. The Minister forced me."

"Mr Weasley – " began Scrimgeour, but he was soon cut off.

"I think you should leave," said both Mr Weasley and Lupin simultaneously.

"Yes, I agree," said Percy formally, but almost against his will, he turned to Harry, and fixed his slightly glazed look onto the teenager. "First, though, I require a word with Mr Potter. It concerns the events of the Department of Ministries."

Harry visibly flinched at the mention of the place where he had lost Sirius, and no one missed it. However, Harry's curiosity was tested by the mention of that place as well. Lupin moved over and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off.

"What do you mean?" he asked, ignoring the warning looks that his friends were sending him. He couldn't help himself; he had to know.

"There have been some developments," Percy said stiffly, apparently unwilling to reveal more in front of his less that happy family.

"Harry..." warned Lupin, but Harry cut him off.

"You have two minutes," Harry said, indicating that Percy should leave the house, and walk in the garden so that they would have some privacy.

They both walked quickly, with Percy following Harry, and once they had reached the end of the snow covered garden, Harry turned to face Percy, his arms crossed immediately, demanding the information he had been promised. However, Percy was unresponsive to the barely veiled threat, instead simply staring out across the winter scene with no emotion on his face.

"Percy?"

"You should not have come out with me."

"Excuse me?"

"You should not have come out here," Percy reiterated stiffly. "It was a mistake."

"What are yo - hey!"

Percy had his wand pointed directly at Harry's forehead, and although the hand was shaking, the aim was true.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry gasped, unsure whether it would be a good idea to risk calling for help. Percy was clearly not acting himself. In fact, if Harry was not mistaken, Percy was under the Imperius Curse.

"Do not struggle," said Percy, ignoring Harry's plea. "It will only be more painful if you do."

But Harry had no desire to be a guest of Voldemort's for the holidays, and was nervously and slowly moving his hand to his pocket to get hold of his wand. If he was about to be captured, he wasn't about to go quietly.

"HELP!" he cried unexpectedly, surprising Percy, whose wand was still fixed securely on Harry. "HEL –"

His final cry for help was lost as the stunning spell hit him squarely in the forehead, unconsciousness overcoming him before he had even hit the ground.

* * *

><p>Harry came to slowly, and his first thought was that he hoped that his friends had caught the hippogriff that had trampled all over his head, so loud was the pounding in his temple. His second, much more coherent thought was that he needed to access his situation. He had a blurry memory of Percy, of him hitting him with a spell, and then Harry's memory was blank.<p>

With his eyes still closed, he realised that he was sat down on a hard chair, with his hands tied tightly behind his back. As much as he struggled with the binds, he knew that there was no way to break through them, and his wrists were starting to hurt with the effort.

Abandoning that plan, Harry racked his brain frantically, trying to come up with a plan of action whilst also trying to calm the panic that was rising in his chest. He was interrupted by a voice, though, as it came menacingly to him in the dark. He recognised it, and the appearance of the voice confused him so much that he opened his eyes in surprise.

Blinking furiously, he tried to focus without the use of his glasses. The room he found himself in was dark, but he could still recognise the other person in the room.

There was someone in front of him, with their wand pointed squarely in his face – but it wasn't Percy.

It wasn't even Voldemort.

* * *

><p>AN- Well, I'm quite happy with how this one turned out. Hopefully you agree? Big cliff hanger at the end, though. I wonder if anyone can guess who the mystery kidnapper is? I'll give you a clue...it isn't Quirrell this time! Hopefully the next update should be fairly quick, so the wait shouldn't be too long to find out!

Coming up... _Chapter 19: A Special Place in Hell_


	19. A Special Place in Hell

**A/N- **I'm so happy with response you all gave to the last chapter! Lots of guesses for the mysterious kidnapper, but I must say... most were wrong. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm actually really nervous about the reaction to this chapter, but in truth I've actually been working up to this point for a while now. In fact, if you look back to chapter nine, chapter fourteen and chapter fifteen you'll see the foundations I put in place for this. I hope it makes sense to you and that you all like, or can at least accept, where I've taken this story! Let me know what you think!

**Warnings:** Explicit and implied violence towards a minor.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: <strong>A Special Place in Hell

* * *

><p><em>It's alright to scream, <em>

_I'm screaming too. _

_Why'd you think I do these things I do? _

_For shadows haunted me like ghosts, _

_So I became what I feared the most. _

_I conduct fear like electricity. _

_A man made monstrosity. _

**_'Killer', The Hoosiers_**

* * *

><p>It was Cornelius Fudge, the ex-Minister of Magic.<p>

"Why...?" began Harry hoarsely as he looked disbelievingly at the shadowy figure in front of him, but the teenager's voice trailed off as the horror began to finally hit him fully for the first time since he had regained consciousness.

Of all the people who Harry had expected to have kidnapped him, Cornelius Fudge hadn't even made it onto the list.

At first, when Harry had first heard the voice that he knew belonged to the ex-Minister, he had almost been relieved that it wasn't Voldemort. It was only now, as he frantically looked around the dark room he was trapped in, that he was truly beginning to comprehend how dire his situation was. Harry blinked furiously, trying desperately to quell the rising panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Judging by the eery shadows that the moonlight was casting from the curtainless windows, Harry realised that he must have been unconscious for a good few hours. It had been mid-day when he had been kidnapped by an out of character Percy, and since it was clearly night-time now, it was safe to assume that a rescue wasn't on its way any time soon. If the Order hadn't found him yet, Harry knew it was probably because wherever he was, it was somewhere where he couldn't be found.

Although his vision was fuzzy due to his lack of glasses, as Harry looked around in desperation, he noticed that the room that he found himself trapped in was old and decrepit, but he could still see signs of the large room's previous grandeur.

Harry could clearly make out a decandent chandelier hanging from the centre of the room, and a huge ornate fireplace that would not have looked out of place in a palace, had it not been for the fact that it was covered in what must have been decades worth of grime.

He was bound so tightly to the chair he was sat in, that Harry could barely even move his head, so he could only see what was directly in front of him. However, he got the distinct impression, mainly due to the echo created by Fudge's voice, that the room he was currently confined in was quite large, and strangely empty and abandoned. In fact the only furniture he could see, apart from the chair he was bound to, was a large dining room table that had been moved to the side of the room. It looked as decrepit as everything else in the room, and although he was sat quite far away from it, Harry could even see the dust that covered the dirty wooden surface in layers.

Where in Merlin's name was he?

"Potter," Fudge spat out, as he moved closer, his wand still pointed threateningly at Harry. Dragging his attention away from his location for the moment, Harry struggled futility against the ropes that bound his arms torturously behind his back, preventing him from defending himself.

He wanted desperately to be able to escape, so vulnerable was he in this position, but it was no use; he was trapped, and could do nothing as Fudge walked confidently towards him, showing no remorse as he looked at his captive with an expression bordering on glee.

Upon closer inspection, Harry could see the signs of the recent life the ex-Minister had been living. His eyes were surrounded by a red ring and underlined with huge black bags and his pupils were bugged out slightly, giving him a somewhat manic expression. What little hair he had left was dishevelled, and the pin-striped, three piece suit he wore was ragged and had clearly seen better days.

"Where...am I?" Harry asked hoarsely, cringing as his wrists began to sting as he continued to struggle against his bounds. He could feel the ropes cutting against his skin due to the friction, but he didn't relent in his efforts. The chair he was fixed to was unmoving, and the ropes unbreakable, but Harry forced the panic away as he tried to keep control of his breathing. He had to stay calm, or he'd never be able to escape. He had to keep his wits about him.

"You are currently a... _guest _at my ancestral home, Fudge Manor," Fudge replied with a distorted smile as the ex-politician looked around the room that had once been his dining room. "I haven't been here in years, no one has in fact, but it seems the protections are still as strong as ever. No one will find you now. I have you all to myself."

Fear rose up in Harry once agai but the teenager forced it away, knowing it would do little good, as he continued to try to find a way to escape the dangerous man in front of him.

No matter how much Harry had associated Fudge with a bumbling but jovial man, the person infront of him held no sign that any of that previous resemblance remained. In fact, Fudge looked completely manic, and rather threatening to the teenager he was holding against his will.

"Why...are you...doing this?" Harry asked with some difficulty, still suffering slightly from the lingering effects of the stunning spell.

"Because you are a nasty little attention-seeking liar!" Fudge announced loudly, anger contorting his face. "You-Know-Who is not back, and I'm going to prove it!"

"But..." began Harry, horrified, his head pounding as Fudge's words began to sink in, "...you _saw _him! He's back!"

The teenager just couldn't comprehend what he was hearing.

_Everyone_ knew that Voldemort was back. Not even Umbridge had been able to deny it after what had happened in the Department of Mysteries. When the truth had finally been revealed, despite the events of _that _night, Harry had actually felt relief that no one could deny it any longer; that the Order would no longer be alone in their fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. For Fudge to deny it now, even after his most stringent supporters had admitted their mistakes was unbelievable. Worse than that, though; it was madness.

"He..is...NOT...back," insisted Fudge angrily through gritted teeth, but it was said almost like a mantra and it almost seemed to Harry as if he was talking to himself, rather than to the terrified boy in front of him.

_The rumours are true,_ thought Harry desperately, as he tried to think of a way out of this situation. _ Fudge really is mad. Completely insane..._

Trying to calm himself down and prevent the panic from overwhelming him, Harry focused his mind on the positives of his situation. He hadn't been captured by Voldemort, as he had first feared, which could only be considered a good thing in his eyes.

And yet...

Madness was an unpredictable quality that could be even more dangerous.

For what was a man, if he was too insane to listen to his conscience? Where would he draw the line at getting what he wanted, when he was in no right mind to decide where that 'line' was?

The more Fudge talked, the more the panic began to rise in Harry, and the harder it was for the teenager to repress his growing fear.

"...you did something...yes that's it...you and Dumbledore have cooked up this story to give you the power, and take it away from me–"

Fudge continued to pace in front of the teenager, occasionally stopping to raise his wand and point it at his captive, before dropping it again and continuing on his ramblings. Each time the wand was raised, Harry held his breath, half expecting a curse to be released on him, but Fudge didn't seem aware of the reaction he was causing in his captive, so focused was he on his own delusions.

"Mr Fudge, Sir," Harry cut in desperately, trying to reason with the man, even as he continued to struggle against the bounds that held him captive, "you lost your job, remember? You're not the Minister anymore – "

"Shut up!" cried Fudge, swinging his hand wildly to connect with the side of Harry's face. The teenager's head jerked violently to the side, and pained flared up on his jaw.

"How dare you speak to me that way!" Fudge cried furiously, raising his arm to backhand Harry across the face again. This time when the contact came, Harry felt blood begin to poor out of his nose. "I am the Minister of Magic! You will respect me!"

Fudge raised a pudgy hand and grabbed a chunk of Harry's hair, jerking it up so that Harry was forced to look into the ex-politician's face, the teenager's terrified green eyes meeting the manic ones of his kidnapper.

"You will admit it," continued Fudge dangerously, causing Harry's heart to beat even more rapidly as the threat was made clear in Fudge's expression. "You _will _admit you lied about You-Know-Who's return!"

"Voldemort's back!" cried Harry, tears leaking unwillingly from his eyes as Fudge tugged his hair harder at the outburst. "He's back, you bastard!"

Harry couldn't bare it. No matter how much his life depended on it, he couldn't lie.

Not about that.

After everything he had gone through during Voldemort's rebirth and the aftermath; from seeing Cedric die, to being tortured, to the ridicule he suffered when many didn't believe him, Harry refused to act like it had meant nothing. After everything he had suffered, he was not going to let Fudge force him into pretending that it hadn't happened.

It was an insult to Cedric's memory, and much like his interactions with Umbridge during the previous school year, Harry wouldn't back down on this, no matter how much he was hurt in the process.

Despite his convictions, Harry looked nervously at Fudge, his breathing hitching as he prepared himself for the pain he expected to follow.

However, to his surprise and confusion, Fudge just laughed manically. The intense and unpredicatable mood swings of the ex-Minister had Harry even more on edge than he had ever been before, or that he had ever even thought possible.

"I'll soon have you telling the truth," Fudge told the frightened boy ominously, and Harry found himself unconsciously gulping at the threat, his face paling further with each passing minute. "You've...destroyed the world that I worked so hard to create...you and Dumbledore with your lies. You _will _admit them!"

Before Harry could even protest, Fudge raised his wand, and brought down, slashing it through the air. Harry cried out in pain, his chest bleeding freely from the cutting curse that had been released onto him with venom. Protected only by his newest Weasley jumper, Harry felt the pain immediately, and could feel as the blood began to soak into the fabric, causing the jumper to stick to his chest.

In desperation Harry began yelling out, hoping that there was someone in the house who would help him.

Hoping that he was not here alone.

"HELP!" Harry cried, half in desperation, half in pain. "HELP!"

"You think they'll help you?" Fudge said with a smirk, watching as Harry struggled against the chair in pain. "The only other people here are my team. Not the best I could find, but they were the only ones from my previous administration that I was able to convince of the truth before I was forced to leave."

"You mean before everyone found out you were mental," Harry gasped out, but luckily Fudge seemed to disregard his words without wanting revenge.

"They've tried and failed to capture you twice now," Fudge continued conversationally. "Once at Hogwarts, and once at the Weasley residence. Both times they acted like fools, and allowed you to escape. I was forced to put my own plan in motion."

"Percy..." Harry whispered. Aprehension grew in the teenager, replacing the raging fear that had been threatening to overwelm him. Whatever had happened to the Weasley sibling that had kidnapped him, Harry had a feeling that it wasn't anything good.

"If you want something doing right, do it yourself," Fudge chanted in a sing song voice, giggling rather hysterically at a joke that Harry didn't understood.

"Weasley was an easy target," the ex-Minister continued, a huge smirk on his face that disgusted Harry to his very core. "Far too hopeful. I contacted him. Told him I was going to hand myself in. The idiot agreed to meet with me. Never even saw my spell coming."

"The Imperius," choked out Harry, as he tried to control his breathing. Now Percy's behaviour made sense, and his own hypothesis was confirmed.

He had always liked Percy least of all Ron's brothers, but he had still never pictured him being involved in something like this voluntarily. He was actually surprised to find that he felt a little relieved at the revelation. At least he had not been betrayed by someone he thought he could trust. Even though they had never really seen eye to eye, he had never thought that Percy could have been involved anything that included kidnapping and assault.

It was actually a relief to find that he was right, and that some things could still be counted on, even in these dark times. He was glad, in a way, that Percy Weasley's strict belief in the rules was still one of them.

"It didn't work for very long though," Fudge continued, his mood changing again to become darker and more threatening, "so I needed a bit more leverage to make him _come around."_

"What did you do?" asked Harry, horrified, as the aprehension grew in him once again.

"He has a fiancé, did you know that? She's pregnant too," Fudge said matter-of-factly. "Disgraceful practice, but in the end it was the perfect leverage."

Horror rose up in Harry as he thought of Percy, so fearful for the life of his wife and unborn child, that he had stopped fighting the curse that was trying to make him do something so wrong, so against his morals.

"I have his fiancé in my custody," Fudge said smiling manically. "If he _cooperates_, she'll be released. If he doesn't, well..."

"You monster!" Harry shouted loudly, still holding desperately onto the distant hope that someone would hear his cries, and would come and save him. Harry knew, deep down, that it was futile, but it was all he had so he clung to it, like a drowning man would cling to a float.

"No, you're the monsters!" replied Fudge viciously. "You and Dumbledore. Spreading your lies, ruining the country I spent my whole career rebuilding!"

"You coward!" Harry shouted. Fudge hit him again, but Harry was past the point of caring. "_You're_ the reason we're in this state. You're as bad as Voldemort! When you die, I hope you and he enjoy the special place in hell reserved for you both!"

Fudge backhanded Harry once more, blood spurting freely from a heavily bleeding wound on the teenager's cheek.

Fudge looked at the blood on his hand, a disgusted expression on his face. At the defiant attitude that Harry was expressing, Fudge looked at him, considering for a moment, before seemingly deciding on a new plan. He walked purposefully over to the door that presumably led to the rest of the house and paused at the exit.

"Jenkins!" Fudge yelled through the doorway.

As they waited for the unknown Jenkins to answer the call, Harry tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. The panic was rising again now, and as defiant as he was acting, he couldn't seem to repress the fear that was threatening to overwhelm him.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for the man named Jenkins to come.<p>

When he entered the room, Harry couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped him at the appearance of Fudge's goon. He was huge, almost as tall as Hagrid, and although he clearly didn't have any giant blood in him, he would have given Hagrid a run for his money in a fight. His hair was wild and scraggly, giving him the appearance of a wild animal, and Harry couldn't help but be scared at the thought of the large, strong arms, and the type of damage they could do on a defenceless teenager.

"This boy needs to be taught a lesson," said Fudge, confirming Harry's worst fears. "I don't want to get my hands too dirty. Use your...imagination. When he's had enough, come and find me."

As Fudge left, Harry tried to swallow, but his throat felt impossibly tight. Harry could feel the cold sweat that was clinging to his skin, and the tremors that wracked his body at the thought of what was to come.

Jenkins advanced on him, a manic glint in his cold eyes, and although Harry continued to struggle in desperation, he knew he would not be able to escape.

Harry tried to open his mouth, trying to reason with the man in front of him, but any words that might have come were silenced in his throat as the large man raised a fist and brought it crashing into Harry's already sore chest.

The blows continued, and the torture was silent apart from the occasional grunt of pain, Harry's hope eroding with every punch he endured.

He was never getting out of here. Fudge and his goons were going to keep torturing him, and there was no way he could fight back. But even if he did give them what they wanted, and Harry knew he never would, he somehow didn't think that they'd just let him leave.

Fudge had committed enough offences for him to be given the kiss if he was ever captured. No matter how mentally unbalanced the man was, Harry doubted he had forgotten that little fact.

He was on his own here, he knew that. There was no way that the Order was going to find him. Fudge had been hiding out for months, and in all that time the Order had had no clue as to where the ex-Minister was.

No, the only way Harry was going to get out of this situation was by himself. He gulped loudly, trying to keep the rising anxiety and panic at bay. He couldn't lose his wits now. He had to stay focused on trying to come up with some way to escape.

It was the only hope he had left.

Unable to hang on for much longer, it wasn't long before Harry's head lolled dangerously on his stomach, and he lost consciousness, fading gratefully into the blackness once more.

* * *

><p>AN- So how was it? I know this isn't the longest chapter, but it finished in quite a good place, I think. Do you like this twist or find it stupid? Is Percy's story believable? Let me know what you think! Also, before you leave, I have a quick request...does anyone want to be a staff member on my community (check it out on my profile if you don't know what it's about)? Let me know in a review or via PM if you're willing to help me out, or even if you've just got some fics to suggest. See you soon and thanks for reading!

Coming up... _Chapter 20: The Rescue_


	20. The Rescue

**A/N- **Hello my loyal readers, both old and new! Thank you for your continued support. I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you, but I did my best. Hopefully what I've given you is good enough for you to forgive my lapse. I put a lot of effort into this chapter, so I hope you like it!

**Warnings:** Explicit and implied violence towards a minor.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 20: <strong> The Rescue

* * *

><p><em>I'd fight for you<em>

_I'd lie, it's true_

_Give my life for you_

_You know I'd always come for you._

'_**I'd Come For You', Nickelback**_

* * *

><p>"...Oh, I'm s-sorry. Harry, I'm so sorry..."<p>

The faint mumbling voice worked its way into Harry's consciousness, unwillingly pulling out of the blissful darkness he had been inhabiting. He fought against it, eager to stay where he was safe, where the memories were numb, and the pain couldn't reach him fully. He didn't want to confront the horror that awaited him when he opened his eyes. Memories of the beatings danced across his mind, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to erase them.

"Harry, please, I'm sorry," mumbled the voice again. "Please be alright."

The voice broke then, and Harry could hears sobs replacing it instead. He tried to focus on the noise, but his mind was numb, muddy, as if his very thoughts were made of treacle. A cool, damp cloth of some sort was placed on Harry's throbbing cheek with such tenderness that the teen knew that, even though he was certain that he was still being held captive from the feel of the ropes against him, that the person in front of him meant him no harm.

Curiosity eventually overcame his fear, and he opened his eyes.

Looking around the desolate room, his eyes took a while to focus, the pain of the beating still an ever present condition. His limbs throbbed and his head spun, and Harry had to repress the nausea that was building inside him.

"- Harry, please..."

The desperate voice brought the teenager back to the reason he had woken up in the first place. Harry's mind was struggling to focus, but he forced his eyes to move to meet those of his current carer; a pale, sweating man, with red hair.

"P-Percy?" Harry asked hoarsely, unable to prevent the round of wracking coughs that followed the question.

_My ribs must be broken,_ he thought absently, his mind wandering slightly once again. _Why is it so hard for me to concentrate?_

"Harry?" Percy gasped, his hand falling quickly away from Harry's face when the teen had begun to cough. "Are you okay? I mean...how are you feeling?"

"Like...shit," Harry muttered with great difficulty. "Head hurts. Can't...c-concentrate. Ribs hurt."

Percy took another attempt at wiping some of the cuts on Harry's face, unable to stand looking at his bloody chest for too long. Percy, though, almost burst into tears right there and then when the teenager flinched away from the sudden and unexpected contact.

"Sorry," Harry muttered with a raspy croak, the embarrassment of such an action clear. "Still...a bit...jumpy. Glasses?"

"I'm sorry," said Percy desperately, "they broke when I k-kidnapped you. I left them at the Burrow."

"Doesn't matter," Harry replied quietly, unconsciousness threatening him once again. He pulled himself back with great difficulty, but judging by the concerned look on Percy's face it had taken him a lot longer than it should have. "Don't...need them anyway."

"I'm going to get you out, Harry," Percy stated, his voice ringing with conviction. From what Harry could tell, the red-head's face was pale and he was shaking slightly, but his determination was clear.

Despite the hope he felt at the declaration, horror rose up in Harry at Percy's words; he hadn't forgotten the threat Fudge had made towards the Weasley sibling.

"Fiancé?" Harry croaked out, his mind filling with worry at the thought of the innocent lives at stake. He couldn't let Percy risk them in trying to save him; he wasn't worth it.

"I'll...I'll find her...them," said Percy, white-faced, his shaking voice betraying the lack of conviction he had in his own words this time. "I have to get you out first though. Get you safe."

"Safe..." Harry whispered, blackness beginning to cloud his vision once more. This time he could do little to fight against it, and even though he greatly wanted to protest the rescue Percy was planning, and wanted to tell him that he wasn't worth it, the teenager couldn't help but welcome the blanket of unconsciousness that overtook him once again.

* * *

><p>Percy led out a strangled sob as he watched Harry's eyes close, desperately trying to silence himself as he fought to keep his talk with Harry secret. He couldn't afford to get caught; not only would it be disastrous for Harry, but it would likely be the end for his fiancé too! Grief, fear and panic all warred within the red-head's mind, but one thought gave him a clarity that he was clinging too at the moment.<p>

He had to get Harry out.

The guilt was almost overwhelming him, and it was taking every bit of strength he had to stop himself from handing himself in. It would do Harry no good, though, and at the moment he owed Harry everything; he owed Harry his life. He was so ashamed that he had let fear and panic overwhelm his own morals. Harry was paying the price now, had already paid the price, and now it was up to him to make it right.

He wouldn't be weak anymore.

He couldn't release Harry from the binds that trapped him to the chair; they were impervious to all magic, and the spell could only be released by Fudge himself. He couldn't even heal his wounds since it would be clear that he had interfered, and Fudge would not hesitate to put him under the Imperius Curse again.

He couldn't afford to risk it, and so it was with a heavy heart, with grief and guilt settled on his chest, that Percy turned and made his way silently out of the room, his thoughts stuck on Audrey, his fiancé, their unborn child, and the innocent, black-haired teenager who was paying the price for his weakness.

Percy would make it right though.

It was time to show his Gryffindor side once and for all.

* * *

><p>Whilst Percy was doing everything he could to keep Harry alive, the Order members were gathering at the Burrow, panic and fear a prevalent feeling there too. It was hours after the kidnapping, and yet the bustle inside the Weasley home had yet to sate.<p>

There was an air of desperation amongst the inhabitants.

The search of the garden had turned up nothing of importance, save the damaged glasses that belonged to Harry.

Molly Weasley clutched at them now, hours after Harry and Percy had disappeared, as she sat motionless in an armchair in her living room, oblivious to the bustle of activity that surrounded her, and equally unaware of the concern and comfort her husband was trying to give her as he took his place next to her.

"How are you doing, Molly-wobbles?" asked Arthur Weasley gently, his voice affectionate but his expression full of concern and a worry that matched his wife's.

In reply she just shook her head sadly, tightening her grip on the glasses in her hand.

"Is there any news?" she asked, although she already knew what the answer would be.

"I'm afraid not," replied Arthur, shaking his head sadly, looking over towards the corner of the room, where an almost inconsolable Ron was hugging an equally distraught Ginny, whilst Hermione simply looked on in shock. "Dumbledore is on his way, but he was held up at the Ministry. Hopefully he'll have a solution."

Molly chanced a look at her husband, and saw the hope warring with desolation as he spoke of the Headmaster. She couldn't share his feelings as much as she wanted to. She honestly didn't see what the Headmaster, as powerful as he was, could do that the rest of the Order hadn't already tried.

Moody had already inspected the wards, arriving seconds after the kidnap, after having been alerted by Bill once Harry's disappearance had been noticed. The wards were intact, since Percy, a Weasley by blood, could pass through the wards freely without destroying them.

It was an oversight that could end up costing them, and Harry, dearly.

Once the rest of the Order had arrived, every available resource had been used to try and track Harry and Percy, and try and find out where they had gone, or even why Percy had taken Harry in the first place, but so far none had been successful. Wherever Percy had taken Harry, they were undetectable there.

"Poor Harry..." Molly said, choking back a sob as she thought of the dark haired teen who had already suffered so much in his life.

Arthur just nodded sadly, but was interrupted from making a reply when the Bill entered the room, followed closely by Albus Dumbledore.

"Alastor, report," Dumbledore said immediately, wasting no time on pleasantries.

The seven Order members who were currently at the Burrow gathered around their leader almost immediately. They understood; Harry might not have any time to waste.

"The wards were intact during the entire kidnap." Moody, completely understanding the old Headmaster's need to get straight down to business. "Weasley came with Scrimgeour, but it seems Rufus had no idea about Percy's intentions."

"We suspect that Percy was acting under the Imperius," continued Remus. "Both the Minister and Molly noticed abnormal behaviour from him, and after looking at Scrimgeour's memories, the symptoms of the curse become clearer."

Dumbledore nodded, some relief entering his mind as realised that the Weasley sibling may not be lost to them yet.

"It doesn't matter why the Weasley boy did it," sneered Snape, interrupting their ponderings. "We need to work out where Potter is, and who Weasley was working for."

"Are you kidding?" burst out Bill. "It's got to be Voldemort! He's had it in for Harry since he was one year old!"

"I assure you, the Dark Lord did not plan this," Snape said angrily, obviously livid at being questioned by a former pupil. "If he had, I would be by his side, and we would be talking about the wonder boy's funeral..."

"Severus," warned Dumbledore sharply, even if he did agree with his Potion's master.

Dumbledore surveyed the crowd of Order members and Weasleys, all white-faced scared, and looking towards him for confirmation, reassurance and the solution they all wanted so much. He had nothing to offer though, and he had to hide his own desperation behind his carefully placed mask.

He had to appear strong.

"I do not believe Tom had anything to do with this," Dumbledore confirmed, holding up his aged hand to stall any arguments. "Now, what methods have you employed to try to track Harry's location?"

"We've tried every tracking spell in our knowledge, even some of the more questionable ones," replied Moody gruffly. "No luck."

"He's being hidden under the Fidelus charm then?"

"Must be," replied Lupin. "There's no other explanation."

"So that's it then?" Ron said, standing up, barely containing his fury at the lack of options they had. "Harry's on his own, and there's nothing we can do!"

"Ron, we'll find him," replied Lupin, his voice cracking even as he tried to reassure his former pupil.

"It's too late," Ron said quietly, his words seemingly amplified in the silence following Lupin's words.

"Ron..." began Hermione.

"No, it's too bloody late!" Ron burst out angrily, his fist clenching so hard that the knuckles had turned white. He allowed his furious gaze to hit every member of the Order who was present, even his parents, angry at the fact that they were as helpless as he was to help Harry.

Angry and frustrated at how useless he felt himself.

"How can he be alright after this?" Ron continued, shrugging of the comforting hand that his eldest brother Bill had attempted to place on his shoulder. "Even if we do, by some bloody miracle, find him, how can he be alright? It's too much! It'd be too much for anyone, but Harry..."

"Potter will be fine," interjected Snape snidely. Even though his tone of voice was scathing though, it was clear by the paleness of his face that even the Potions master was concerned, but Ron disregarded it, his own worry overcoming rationalisation with ease.

"He's never fine," Ron ground out, glaring at Snape.

"Ron..." began Bill gently.

"No, you have no idea!" Ron interrupted immediately, his voice rising almost to the point of shouting. "No one can handle this much. Every year something happens to him, and every year he changes just a little bit. And I HATE IT!"

The Order members were silent, watching Ron visibly shake as he tried to calm his breathing down. He was still pale faced and angry though as he continued.

"It's not always obvious but it's there," Ron told his enraptured audience, his anger dissipating slightly only to be replaced with desolation. "I see it. I'm his best friend."

"Oh Ronnie..." began Molly, in tune with her son's current distress but Ron acted as if she hadn't even spoken at all.

"First year," Ron continued defiantly, "Quirrell died by Harry's hand. _Literally._ How is an eleven year old supposed to deal with that?"

The Order members, it seemed, had no answer to that. Dumbledore looked devastated at the words that the young red-head was expressing, and yet the Headmaster's body language suggested that the old man was not going to stop Ron from speaking.

"You know he never talked about it," Ron said quietly. "Doesn't talk about it now either. If you didn't know any better, you'd think it hadn't even happened. But I _do_ know better. He had nightmares about it for ages afterwards, and he still wouldn't talk about it. They went away eventually, and he remembered how to smile and laugh again when he came to stay at my house for the summer, but he still wasn't really the same. He's never the same."

"He's still Harry," Hermione said desperately, but it seemed more like she was trying to convince herself of her words rather than everyone else.

"Yeah, he is," agreed Ron, but his voice was full of bitterness. "But each time something happens, he becomes a little more sad, a little closer to giving up. It kills me to see it! After second year, and the whole _chamber of secrets thing, _he couldn't smile for weeks. And that was after his _bastard_ relatives locked him up! Even in the summer, when he finally got to our house, he had changed! He was still Harry, but not the same Harry I'd met on the train!"

"And then he found out he had a Godfather, and he actually started talking about things," Ron continued. "He didn't mention it to us, but it was clear that Sirius helped him. I don't know how he would've gotten through the whole Triwizard thing without him, not to mention the torture! Sirius was the only thing keeping him going in fifth year!"

"And then Sirius went and died on him!" Ron cried. "And I thought that he was going to give up! He'd lost hope. I could see it in his eyes."

Ron turned towards Dumbledore, and raised a pale, shaking hand accusingly before continuing, his tone taking on a bitter edge.

"It didn't help that you'd ignored him during that entire year, either," Ron said quietly, but without remorse. Dumbledore flinched, but made no move to defend himself.

"Ronald!" admonished Mrs Weasley, but her son once again ignored her, so lost was he in his thoughts.

"I've never seen him like that," Ron continued. "He was like a zombie at the end of term. It's taken him all year to finally seem like he was getting past it, and now this! It's...too...bloody...much!"

Sobs wracked his body as the emotion overcame him. Molly immediately stood up and took her youngest son in her arms, her own tears escaping as she thought about the boy who was all on his own.

"We will find him," Dumbledore said, although he had to make a special effort from allowing the doubt in his mind from escaping into his voice. "We have to."

* * *

><p>"Voldemort...is...BACK!" cried Harry, pain clouding his vision as Fudge continued the torture.<p>

"NO...HE...ISN'T!" Fudge yelled, swinging his fist to collide with the already badly beaten boy. "STOP LYING!"

"I'm...I'm not...lying," gasped Harry, coughs wracking his frame as his ribs continued to ache painfully in his chest. Hope eroded with each blow he endured. Percy wasn't coming back.

He was on his own.

"He's back..." began Harry shakily, "...He's back...and there's...n-nothing you can do...that will change my mind!"

"Ah, but you're wrong, Mr Potter," said Fudge silkily, completely unperturbed by the youngster's condition, twirling his wand casually through his podgy fingers, madness gleaming in his eyes. "There is something I can do. To be precise...there is a certain curse I could use..."

_The Imperius Curse._

"No..." started Harry, fear rising in the teenager. "It won't work...Voldemort...he tried...I fought it."

"We'll see, shall we?" Fudge snapped angrily, furious at the further mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He pointed his wand squarely between the eyes of the teenager before him, and Harry, still tied to the chair, could do little to resist him.

He struggled against his bonds, and in desperation snapped his eyes closed quickly, as if by some desperate hope it would offer him protection against the curse.

"Imperio!"

Having prepared himself for the calming and unusual experience of being put under the curse, Harry was surprised to find that he felt no different.

He cautiously opened his eyes a crack, and found, once his sight had adjusted, that Fudge's wand was still pointed directly at him.

So why hasn't his spell worked?

There was a noise from the side, away from where Fudge was standing, and Harry opened his eyes fully, blinking as he rapidly tried to improve his sight.

Fudge was still standing in his original position. In fact, he had not moved a muscle from the moment the curse had been uttered.

"Harry?" came a voice from his side, and Harry swung his attention from Fudge towards the noise so fast that dizziness almost overcame him.

"P-Percy...is that you?" asked Harry, squinting into the dark room to try and find his saviour.

"Yes, it's me," Percy said moving out of the shadows, and towards Harry's chair, his wand raised on the now immobile Fudge.

"Lower your wand," Percy commanded, and to Harry's utter surprise, Fudge did exactly that with no protests whatsoever.

"Is he...Imperius Curse?" asked Harry, his chest throbbing even more now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Yeah," replied Percy shakily as he looked nervously over to the now tame ex-Minister. "I had no choice...there's no other way to free you. It has to be him."

Harry's head throbbed painfully, as Percy's announcement sunk in his already battered brain. Percy didn't seem to require an answer though, as he once again looked over to Fudge.

"Release the bonds," commanded Percy, the hate for his old boss clear in his voice.

Fudge immediately raised his wand again, and Harry couldn't help but flinch when it was once again pointed in his direction. Instead of the expected pain though, Harry felt nothing.

"Relashio," said Fudge mechanically.

The ropes that bound Harry to the uncomfortable, wooden chair dropped to the floor as the magic released them, and Harry couldn't help but take a deep breath, now that he wasn't so confined.

It was a mistake though, as great wracking coughs once again invaded his frame. He raised a weak hand to his mouth, hoping to stifle the noise, lest he alert Fudge's cronies to the escape that was happening right under their noses.

Once the coughs had sated somewhat, Harry pulled his hand back, and was shocked to see blood on it, where there hadn't been blood before.

'_Am I coughing up blood?'_ he though absently, his battered mind confused.

"Harry?" said Percy worriedly, having noticed the blood as well.

"I'm...fine," Harry replied, although it was obvious to them both that he was far from being alright. "So...what's the plan...now?"

Percy looked for a moment as if he would argue with Harry as to how fine he was, but sense seemed to come to him finally as he realised how tense and dire the situation was. They would only get once chance at this. He had to make the most of it.

"I'm going to send a Patronus message to the Order," Percy said, looking on with concern as Harry remained seated, yet obviously in pain. "This manor is under the Fidelus charm, so I can't tell them exactly where we are since I am not the secret keeper, but I can give them a general area. Then we'd need to leave the wards and send them another signal, giving them our position."

Harry's head throbbed painfully, and he had struggled to take in the words, but he nodded regardless. They had better get moving. As if to prove something to himself, his Gryffindor bravado getting the better of him, Harry stood, holding his ribs tightly to futilely try and counter the pain.

He cautiously put weight on his shaky legs, and grasped the chair as dizziness came upon him.

"Harry – " cried Percy, but it was too late; Harry's recent injuries caught up to him as he slid to the floor in pain. Percy ran over to him and tried to catch him, but he couldn't manage it in time.

"Harry...oh god...are you okay?"

"I'll be...alright," Harry replied weakly, as Percy grasped Harry under the arm and helped him to his feet shakily. "Let's...just go...please."

"Lean on my side," Percy said nodding. "I need to send the Patronus."

Harry did as he was told, in too much pain to argue, and Percy closed his eyes for a second, his face pale and shaking, but after a moment a small smile made its way onto his face, and the incantation came easily to the red-head.

When the Weasel Patronus appeared, Percy gave it clear instructions to find Dumbledore and give him their approximate location, all whilst holding Harry up. He glanced across to the black-haired teenager, concern furrowing his brow as he took in the slumped shoulders, uneasy breathing and lowered head.

"Harry?" Percy began cautiously, wrapping his hand carefully around Harry's shoulders to help him stay on his feet. "Stay with me, okay."

The only reply he got was a weak nod of a head, but Percy almost sighed in relief. He would get Harry some help soon. He just needed the teen to hold on a little bit longer.

Their progress was slow, Harry reduced to a painful, shuffling walk, but they couldn't afford to stop. They had to get to the edge of the wards before the escape was discovered.

A groan from Harry interrupted his thoughts and they paused for a second as another coughing fit caused Harry to bend over, moaning in pain.

"Harry?"

Harry raised his head weakly, about to attempt a small smile to try and reassure Percy that he was fine, but horror rose in him as he noticed the shadowed figure coming up behind them both.

"Percy – " Harry attempted to croak. His warning was too late though as the hand came down from behind them onto Percy's head, knocking the red-head to the ground unconscious.

"NO!" cried Harry hoarsely, attempting to pull himself up to tackle the attacker.

It was Fudge. They had forgotten about the ex-Minister.

Fudge looked even more manic now, having overcome the Imperius curse finally. He grasped his wand tightly, and it was all Harry could do not to flinch away as Fudge stepped towards him.

"Potter!" Fudge yelled erratically, swinging his fist wildly in Harry's direction. "Trying to escape, huh? Think you can get one over on old Cornelius?"

Panic invaded Harry and he shook his head vehemently as he tried to protest.

Fudge seemed even angrier at this, and he swung a large meaty fist again, completely forgoing magic, as he pummelled the young man in front of him.

Pain invaded every one of Harry's senses, and he felt unconsciousness rise to meet him once again. He fought against the blackness with all his might, well aware, despite his throbbing head, that they would not get another chance at escape. If he gave in now, it would be the end for all of them.

To his surprise, Fudge stopped as abruptly as he had started, and Harry used to moment to speak.

"Dumbledore's...coming," Harry gasped out, holding his ribs. "They know...where I...am."

"You...what?" Fudge said, panic clearly invading his expression. "Dumbledore's on his way?"

Panic overcame the madness in Fudge's eye, and he almost seemed like his old self again for the moment. Sweat pored off the man, and his skin paled dramatically, almost as if he had just become a ghost.

"...I won't go down for this...no, I won't," mumbled Fudge, rooting around for something in his pockets that caused apprehension to rise in Harry once again. "He can't know...he won't know."

"What are you – hey!" Harry spluttered as Fudge forcibly grasped Harry by the hair, and forced a potion vial to his lips. He knew, no matter what that potion was, that bad things would happen if he drank it.

Fudge was persistent though, holding Harry's bloody nose until Harry had no choice but to take a breath. The potion slid down his throat unwillingly, and although Harry tried to spit it out, it was no use.

He had swallowed it.

"You won't remember," Fudge told him, as Harry's brain became foggy once more. "That was a forgetfulness potion. A specific kind licensed by the Ministry to erase a certain number of hours from a person's memory. Better than an obliviate."

Fudge cackled madly, his mood changing erratically once again, but Harry couldn't seem to concentrate on anything, blackness invading his vision once again.

There was a crash, a sound of someone being hit, and of that person falling to the ground, but Harry felt as if he was listening to it through a badly tuned radio.

The last thing he remembered, as unconsciousness overcame him once again, was the sight of a red-haired man grasping his arms and hoisting him up.

"Stay with me Harry..."

And then Harry knew no more.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore stood at the door to Madame Pomfrey's office, taking in the sights of the now occupied hospital wing.<p>

Harry's hospital bed was surrounded by people, but all were silent, in shock, as they gazed at the unconscious form of their black-haired friend. The Weasley's, Hermione, Lupin and surprisingly Tonks had all refused to leave Harry's bedside for even a minute, choosing instead to make camp in the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey had protested at first, but some quiet words from Dumbledore had eased her concerns somewhat. They needed to be there, and Dumbledore could not order them to move, when he himself was equally reluctant to leave Harry's side for more than a moment.

Percy, perhaps, was the most insistent.

The young red head had only moved once from Harry's side, and that was to get his own treatment at the insistence of his mother. They did not know the whole story yet regarding Percy's role in the kidnapping, but one thing was for certain; Percy had saved Harry's life.

The broken ribs Harry had sustained had caused internal bleeding, which, if it had gone untreated much longer, would have been fatal for the teen.

Madame Pomfrey had fixed those first, but of more concern was the swelling of Harry's brain. It was not something that could be treated with magic until the swelling went down partially on its own, so it was a matter of waiting and seeing.

Of course, the wait was excruciating for all those gathered around Harry's bedside, all eyes on the battered, bruised and motionless teen lying there.

Harry had not woken up yet, and it was only then that they could determine how extensive the damage to Harry's head had been.

Dumbledore was pulled out of his pensive thoughts as a young voice interrupted the silence.

"Mum...his eye just flickered," said Ginny cautiously, as she tried to contain her emotions.

"Ginny...don't be - "

"No...there it is again. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" The desperation in young Miss Weasley's voice was heartbreaking and Dumbledore was about to intervene when he too saw movement.

He was by Harry side in a flash.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "Can you open your eyes?"

The eyes flickered open once again, only this time the effect was maintained. Green met blue, and Dumbledore was immensely glad that the visitors at Harry's bedside had had the good sense to stay away so that they wouldn't overwhelm the boy.

"Harry, can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked gently, taking in the confused expression in the teen's eyes.

A nod was the only response he received, but the relief it gave Dumbledore was unrivalled in anything he had ever experienced in his life. Harry was still with them.

"Are you in pain?"

Another shake of the head, but this time the confusion grew on the teen's face. Harry cleared his throat, and looked into the blue eyes that were looking at him with such concern.

"Where...where am I?" he asked hoarsely, suppressing the need to cough again.

"You are safe," Dumbledore replied. "You are in the Hospital Wing."

At this Harry looked even more confused, and distress seemed to grow on the teen's face.

"Where am I?" Harry asked again, looking around desperately. "What happened?"

And then the fateful words came upon Dumbledore, out of a mouth that was lined in panic.

"Who are you?"

* * *

><p>AN- Well, what do you think? Worth the wait? Don't worry, there was a lot of action in this chapter, but the explanations will come soon, and I will fill in some of the gaps then. Did you like the newest twist? Do you see where this is going? Let me know, and until next time, thanks for reading!

Coming up... _Chapter 21: A Child Once More_


	21. A Child Once More

**A/N- **Hello again, everybody! Thanks to everyone who read, favourited, alerted and/or reviewed the last chapter. It means so much as a writer that people actually seem invested in this story, and most of all, that you're enjoying it! To this end, I very much appreciate _any_ feedback I get back, positive or negative. Even if you review only to tell me about a mistake I've made, at the very least, the story will become better for it. I may even end up a better writer. So let me know what you think of this monster chapter (it's by far the biggest one yet!), and most importantly, I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 21: <strong>A Child Once More

* * *

><p><em>Someday you might find your hero.<em>

_Some say you might lose your mind._

'_**AKA... what a life', Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds**_

* * *

><p>"Before we get this meeting underway," began Dumbledore, his voice strong despite the tiredness he felt after a long night and morning, "I would like to address a couple of issues."<p>

The Headmaster looked out across the packed living room of the Burrow, the only available place safe at the moment, apart from Hogwarts, to use as a temporary base for the Order of the Phoenix. Hogwarts was still the safest place in the country, bar none, but since there were still a great deal of students at the school over the Christmas holidays, Dumbledore thought it was best to put this sort of business as far from Hogwarts as possible.

Currently occupying the Weasley abode was every available Order member, both old and new. Moody, Kingsley and Tonks stood in one corner, and Lupin was hovering next to Tonks, although he seemed a little lost, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Both McGonagall and Flitwick, a new addition to the Order, were also present, but Snape was a notable absence. Dumbledore knew he had been called by Voldemort early this morning, only mere minutes after Harry had been returned to Hogwarts, and he had yet to report back. The Headmaster also knew not to worry too much just yet, but he couldn't help the prickle of nervousness at the thought of his Potion's master at the mercy of an angry Tom Riddle once again.

Dumbledore shook himself slightly and forced himself to move his thoughts away from that which he could not control. Instead he moved his gaze to the other members of the Order who _were_ present at the meeting. Some stood by the walls, the door and the window, and some had even taken a seat on the floor due to the lack of space. All in all, there was pushing on thirty people present.

Unsurprisingly, the Weasley clan occupied almost the entirety of the rest of the room. Not only were the Weasley parents present, but so were Bill, Percy, Fred, George and even the two youngest, Ron and Ginny. Young Miss Granger was seated close to them as well, and it was the presence of these youngsters that Dumbledore knew he needed to tackle first.

"Firstly," continued Dumbledore doing his best to hide the weariness he felt, "I know a number of you have expressed concerns over the inclusion of Ronald, Hermione and Ginevra in this meeting, but let me make one thing clear..."

Here he paused slightly to look over to the students in question, taking a moment to observe their pale faces, and tired eyes. They may be young in years, but it was clear they were as invested in this particular meeting as any full member was.

"...this will not become a permanent practice. I believe though, that today's agenda has aspects that directly pertain to them. They deserve to be here to hear it."

He turned his piercing gaze to each adult member in turn, but no one protested. Satisfied for the moment, he continued.

"Secondly," he said, without waiting for a response, "I have spoken to Madame Pomfrey, and she will alert us to any changes in Harry's condition as soon as it's possible. In the mean time though, she has requested that Harry be allowed no visitors so that she may work in peace."

As he had suspected would happen, outrage and worry accompanied this announcement. Even the normally even tempered Remus Lupin looked angry, and Dumbledore was hard pressed to ignore the glares that were being aimed at him. He knew they were in shock, and that their only concern was Harry's health, so he didn't take it personally. In fact, he really couldn't blame them for it; he honestly didn't feel too dissimilar. At the same time, though, he trusted Madame Pomfrey to do what was best.

"But we can't leave Harry in the hospital wing on his own!" protested Ginny, her eyes blazing as if daring the Headmaster to disagree with her. "What if he wakes up and there's no one there? He'll think we've all abandoned him!"

There was uncomfortable silence after Ginny's outburst, and the elephant in the room seemed to grow larger with every second. No one mentioned the fact that Harry still didn't know who they were; they were all still in shock over that particular piece of news, and it hadn't quite sunk in yet for any of them.

"Mr Potter is sleeping at the moment," Dumbledore said gently. "He should not wake for at least a day."

"He still shouldn't be alone..." Ginny said, reluctant to give up just yet.

"You will be permitted to see him as soon as it is possible," Dumbledore said, turning his gaze around the entire room so that they knew his words were aimed at all of them. "I remind you that Mr Potter is in precarious condition, health-wise. He is out of immediate danger for the moment, but he needs rest."

The children didn't look any more appeased, nor for that matter did Molly Weasley, but they didn't protest any further, and Dumbledore was grateful for that at least. His weary mind couldn't stand an argument at the moment, and the truth was they had more important matters to be dealing with now.

"Shall we begin the meeting then," Dumbledore began, trying to inject some cheerfulness into his voice. They needed to keep their spirits up if they were to be of any real use to Harry. "I feel we need to establish our next move with regards to Fudge."

"He's proving more dangerous than Voldemort at the moment," said Bill, scowling slightly.

"Indeed," agreed the Headmaster with wry smile. "Now, first of all, Percy, would you give us your account of the rescue, and of the events leading up to it?"

"Yeah...I mean, yes," Percy replied nervously, standing up and moving to the front of the room as Dumbledore took a seat. He did his best to ignore the glares of everyone there, especially his family. No one could hate him more than he hated himself, but it still hurt to see how much his family seemed to despise him.

As he looked out at all the faces of the people he used to call friends, people he used to trust, he made an oath to himself. He would make it up to them somehow; he would gain their trust once again. He had come back because he knew he had been desperately wrong and he was ready to admit it. He didn't know whether they would ever accept him back, but he would never give up trying to earn his place back in their family again.

And he would begin now.

"It began during the summer," he started, talking more to the wall at the back of the room than he was his family. "I had already been having second thoughts about my previous attitude, even before Fudge's breakdown."

"You were wrong about Harry, admit it!" burst out Ron angrily.

"I was very wrong," Percy admitted remorsefully, "but that wasn't the only reason I wanted to return home. My mistakes were not the only reason I wanted to make amends. I have been dating a...a wonderful woman as of late, and recently we found out that she is...well she's pregnant. We are engaged to be married, or we were..."

Percy reddened slightly as he looked down, but in truth he was more scared and worried than he was embarrassed. He had spoken quite stiffly up until now, but his voice broke slightly as he thought of his still-missing fiancé. They was still no sign of her, and since there was no sign of Fudge at the Manor either, Percy was worried that the ex-Minister would get to her before they could.

"Oh Percy..." began Molly, but Percy continued almost immediately. It was easier for him to keep speaking without interruption. If he stopped now, he wasn't sure he would be able to keep going.

"As soon as she told me the news, I was happy of course. Shocked...but happy." Percy paused for a moment, smiling softly to himself despite the worry he still felt when he thought of his fiancé. He really had been ecstatic once it had finally sunk in.

"Of course, I was immediately confronted with thoughts of a new family, a new baby," Percy continued, the smile falling quickly from his face, "and yet I could not get it out of my head how horribly I had treated my old one. If I was going to bring a new child into the world, I wanted it to be in a world where my family was speaking to me. Audrey agreed and supported my decision completely."

Molly looked as if she was going to interrupt, perhaps to console him, but once again Percy continued quickly.

"Of course, Fudge had already began to show his true colours, and by the time he was forced to leave, I was ready to come back to grovel for forgiveness."

He chanced a glance at his brothers and sister, and saw that the glares had lessened in intensity with every second he had been speaking. Maybe all was not lost after all.

"It didn't quite work out like that though," Percy continued. "I was ready to hand in my resignation, when I was approached by an old acquaintance of Fudge."

"Who?" asked Moody gruffly, mistrust clear in his expression. He had refrained from interrupting so far, but he had been becoming increasingly annoyed with the useless drivel that Weasley had been spouting up until now. They needed information, and it seemed that they were finally beginning to get somewhere.

"Gregor. Thomas Gregor," answered Percy, looking wearily over to the ex-Auror.

"From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Moody said gruffly as he nodded.

"Yes," added Mr Weasley. "He's still one of Fudge's strongest, and most loyal, supporters, even now. Amelia Bones has good control over the Department though, so it's hard from him to have much influence in Fudge's favour."

"Still, he's one to keep an eye on," Moody said looking significantly over to Tonks, who, having understood his hint, nodded in acknowledgment towards her old mentor.

"Quite," said Dumbledore in agreement. "Please continue your tale Mr Weasley."

"I was approached by Gregor," continued Percy, "who said that he had an old friend who required an audience. From the way he said it, it was clear that he was referring to Fudge."

"So why didn't you come to us then?" Bill asked. He honestly didn't hate his brother, and he never had, no matter how much he had hurt their parents, but his forgiveness would be a lot harder to earn than the grudging respect he felt for Percy for the way he had undoubtedly saved Harry. "Why didn't you inform us about this, so that we could actually do something about it?"

"I didn't tell anyone," replied Percy, looking towards his eldest brother, "because there was nothing anyone else could have done. If anyone else had become involved, Gregor would have been aware of it, and he would have notified Fudge straight away. The only chance we had at that point was for Fudge to think I was still loyal to him."

"How do we know you still aren't?" Ron muttered but Percy had heard him. He ignored the mistrust coming from his younger brother however, well aware that it was his own fault that he was in this situation to begin with. He had broken their trust, and it was up to him now to earn it back.

"I'm not," Percy answered firmly, his expression unwavering. "I haven't been loyal to him for a long time."

Percy glanced over to Dumbledore, and when he received a gentle nod, he took it as permission to continue with his tale.

"So I agreed to meet Fudge," Percy continued, the pressure on his throat growing the more he was forced to talk about his mistakes. He forced himself to carry on however; this wasn't about him anymore, it was about Harry. "I had arranged some back-up, but it turns out I placed my trust in the wrong person."

Moody looked as if he was about to interrupt, possibly to tell them all about the importance of constant vigilance once again, but Tonks gave him a not too gentle nudge in warning, and he immediately quietened.

"When I went to the meeting point, I was attacked almost immediately," Percy ground out with some difficulty, his head dropping to keep his gaze on the floor. "My back up, and insurance in case something went wrong, was nowhere to be seen. I found out later that he had been paid off by Fudge to stay away."

"So, because of the betrayal," Percy continued bitterly, angry not only at the person he had once called his friend, but also at himself for being so naive. "I was vulnerable, and an easy target. I knew it had been a risk going in, but I also knew that you were looking for him, and I thought that if I gave you Fudge, or at least told you where he was, that you'd be more accepting of me when I returned."

"Wait," Kingsley began shrewdly, "how did you know that we were looking for Fudge? At one point even we weren't sure. We deliberated a long time before we decided that it was better to know where Fudge was, even if his absence was of benefit to us."

"I don't know anything about that," Percy replied uncertainly, "but I heard that you wanted Fudge's location from Tonks."

"What!" burst out Tonks, sitting up in her seat as her involvement was revealed. "I didn't tell you anything."

"No," Percy said apologetically, "I actually overheard you talking to one of the new Auror recruits..."

"I was trying to gather information," Tonks said defensively, embarrassed by the fact that her 'discrete' enquires had been overheard so easily. Moody looked her way, and caught her eye. Before he had even opened his mouth, she interrupted him.

"Constant vigilance, I know," she mumbled, her face red. She looked towards Professor Dumbledore. "Sorry, I'll be more careful next time."

"See that you are," Dumbledore replied kindly, and there was no anger in his expression. "Continue please, Mr Weasley."

"Once I had been...captured," Percy continued bravely, "I was taken to Fudge Manor. I fought as well as I could, but eventually he managed to put me under the Imperius Curse. After that, my memory becomes much more...sketchy."

Percy took a deep breath to steady himself. This was the part of the story that would be most difficult to recount. Not only did he not have a great awareness of the events of this period, but anything he _did _remember doing, he wasn't proud of.

"I fought it," Percy said, suddenly desperate to defend his actions. "But he caught me unawares the first time, and after that it was harder to...resist. I only remember bits and pieces from the rest of that summer. Once I vividly remember regaining control of my mind, and finding that I was standing in the forbidden forest. I had no idea how I got there, or what my purpose there was, but I heard voices and screaming. I panicked, and apparated back to my flat."

"You...were the one who attacked Harry that day!" burst out Bill. "He nearly died!"

"I didn't know I was doing it!" Percy defended himself, although it was getting harder and harder to justify it, the more he was confronted with his own failings. "I couldn't...I couldn't...I fought! I escaped him!"

"Perce..." Bill began.

"No, let me speak," Percy interrupted. "Once I got back to my flat...it...she...Audrey was gone! She...it was clear that she hadn't left willingly."

"Fudge," Arthur spat out, furious on behalf of his middle son. Percy clearly felt strongly for this girl, and for Fudge to endanger that? No wonder Percy had been so lost, so desperate. If he had been in the same position, he honestly couldn't say how he would have reaction, or indeed acted.

"He'd...she was..." Percy began, trying desperately not to break down in front of the people he needed to respect him. "I didn't know what to do! He had her!"

Percy clenched his fists tightly, almost to the point of drawing blood, his gaze firmly on the ground as he tried, almost in vain, to suppress the tears that were building behind his eyes.

"He came back..." Percy said quietly, and every single person was hanging on his every word by this point. "Gregor. Fudge. I didn't have a choice."

He paused slightly to take a deep breath before continuing. "The curse worked much better this time. I think it was because I'd given up. I couldn't risk it, I suppose. I couldn't risk her."

Percy swallowed deeply. "It was Christmas before I could get in my right mind again. I'd begun to fight it...but Fudge had noticed. He strengthened it, I think. He had a plan. He was angry that he couldn't get to H-Harry at Hogwarts anymore, and the Burrow was safe from anyone but Weasleys."

He gave them a quick, bitter smile, absent of any mirth whatsoever, and his words were greeted with nothing short of horror from the Order members present. They had known the tale would not be a pleasant one, especially when taking in the condition both Percy and Harry had been found in, but not one of them had suspected this.

"I don't remember much about the...the kidnapping itself," Percy continued, much more forcibly than before. "All I keep seeing is Harry's face, the fear...the p-pain..."

Percy suppressed a sob with great difficulty, but the guilt was almost overwhelming.

"I couldn't do it anymore," he said. "Even because of...even with Audrey...it was wrong, what Fudge was doing! I couldn't help him anymore! So I decided to get Harry out of there. I...I helped him escape...but he was so hurt...and Fudge discovered us..."

Percy took a deep breath as he tried to pull himself together. "I managed to get Harry out onto the grounds...so that you could get to us...but Fudge; he'd given Harry something...a potion...and I think...I think that's why Harry can't remember."

"We need to find Fudge," McGonagall said vehemently, wiping the excess tears from her cheeks. "We need to find out what he gave Harry."

"Minerva..." began Dumbledore.

"No, Albus," McGonagall interrupted. "We _need _to find Fudge. Potter...he's so lost right now. He doesn't deserve this. That boy has suffered far too much already, and I'll be damned if I let Fudge make it worse! We will find him, Albus!"

"Minerva," Dumbledore continued tentatively. "I was not going to question that. We will find Fudge, in time. I was merely going to point out that there are other people who need out attention first."

Dumbledore stood as Percy took a seat by his mother, who immediately gathered her distraught son into her willing arms, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"We must help Harry, and we must locate Audrey," he said, the power of his words ringing in his voice. "They are our first priority now. We cannot fail."

* * *

><p>They had spent the rest of the meeting coming up with plans to try and locate Percy's fiancé, as well as allocating assignments to those who could help. Audrey was the priority, first and foremost, but Fudge had not been forgotten. Minerva was largely seeing to that particular assignment, and no one dared argue with her, such was her intensity on the matter.<p>

Once the Order meeting had concluded, and everyone not staying at the Burrow had headed back to their homes to catch up on their sleep, Albus Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts alone, and quietly walked into the now silent Hospital Wing, making his way slowly over to the only occupied bed at the present time.

He paused once he reached his destination, his eyes watering and his smile dropping as he took in the battered and bruised figure of Harry Potter, who was sleeping peacefully and seemed to finally be on the mend.

Physically, at least.

His eyes were sad as he raised an aged hand to gently brush the black fringe out of Harry's eyes, taking a moment to appreciate just how lucky they were to have him back.

"Headmaster?" came a quiet, soft from voice behind him.

"How is Harry doing, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked the school nurse, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

She just gave him a sad, understanding smile, before following his gaze.

"As well as can be expected, I'm afraid" she replied gravely. "He is understandably upset, but he hasn't said much. The poor boy's overwhelmed and downright terrified. I've given him some dreamless sleep. He needs to heal without the added trauma of memory loss."

Dumbledore nodded absently; the full effect of the nurse's words hadn't quite hit him yet.

"And his memory?"

"I spoke to him for a short while once everyone had left," she answered gently. "He remembers who he is, and he has his childhood memories, but he can't remember anything past his eleventh birthday. He is essentially a child again, albeit one in a teenager's body. Not only does Mr Potter not know who we are, he also has no knowledge of magic whatsoever."

Dumbledore nodded. This announcement did not surprise him. "His relatives did not see fit to inform him about our world."

She pursed her lips in a thin line, her anger clear, but she refrained from saying her true feelings on the matter after taking a look at the Headmaster's face.

It was neither the time, nor the place.

"With regards to his memory loss," she continued tentatively, "I'm afraid I don't have anything concrete to report. I need to do some more conclusive tests, but at the moment, I just don't want to get anyone's hopes up."

Her face was apologetic but unmoving, and Dumbledore knew a losing battle when he encountered one.

"I understand, Poppy," he said wearily, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs beside Harry's bed.

Poppy placed a hand on the Headmaster's shoulder and squeezed slightly to show him that he was not alone, but she doubted the action had even registered with the old man. His attention was solely focused on her patient.

"I'll do everything I can, Albus," she said firmly. "He should stay asleep until tomorrow morning, but will you let me know of any changes to his condition? I have some research to be doing."

Dumbledore simply nodded as he raised an aged hand to hold the motionless hand of the unconscious teenager in the bed.

She left the two of them then and wordlessly made her way back to her office, leaving the Headmaster to his thoughts and Harry to his sleep.

Now, as she picked up a large tome from the bookcase beside her desk, she flipped to the section on amnesia, her thoughts turning the two people currently occupying her hospital wing. She had never seen the Headmaster so lost, and Merlin knew that Potter had been through enough over the years.

Harry was her patient once again, but this time it wasn't just the physical hurts that needed healing. If what she suspected about his amnesia was true, they all had a long road ahead of them.

* * *

><p>"Poppy! Come quick!"<p>

The nurse dropped the book she had been reading onto her desk as she ran out of her office, her wand raised as she prepared for any complications with Harry's recovery.

What she found instead, shocked her so much she almost fainted.

Severus Snape was leaning on the Headmaster as if he could barely stand on his own two feet. She would have said he looked extremely pale, had it not been for the blood that had begun to leak ominously from his nose. Coughs wracked the Potion master's frame, and she sprinted over to the pair of them immediately, the need for her clear.

"What happened?" she asked as she began running diagnostic charms.

"Poison," gasped Snape as he managed to take a break from the painful coughing. "The Dark...Lord."

Dumbledore guiding the suffering man into a nearby hospital bed, and helped him lie down.

"Albus, I need you to get me some vials of pain potion from the cabinet," she ordered, her eyes never leaving the diagnostic charm that she had running. "He'll need at least two."

Snape groaned in pain as he grabbed his abdomen, and she directed her charm towards that area. The results were worrying.

"What is it Poppy?" Dumbledore asked as he fed Snape one of the potions carefully, making sure he swallowed every drop without coughing any up.

"Severus," Poppy began, ignoring Dumbledore for the moment. This issue was more pressing. "I need to know what poisoned you. Was it venom?"

"Snake...Nagini," he answered with difficulty, clearly still fighting the pain.

"I thought so," Poppy muttered as she worked her wand over the rest of his body. "Albus, stay with Severus for a moment. Give him another pain potion. I'll need to brew an antidote."

She left without another word, and only returned an hour later, sweating as she prepared to feed the antidote to her patient. Snape had been in intense pain at times, screaming out so loud that sometimes Dumbledore had to glance over to Harry to check that he was still asleep. The boy hadn't even stirred, but even Harry had been driven out of his mind by the pain that Severus was obviously in. He became delirious and thrashed about the bed, but Dumbledore, even in his old age, was able to hold the man firm. It would not do to have Poppy return to find her patient in an even worst state than she had left him in.

"I'm not as good a brewer as Severus," she told Dumbledore as she wiped a hand across her brow, observing her patient carefully as he swallowed her potion, "but this should stop the venom from spreading. I'm afraid though, that his body will have to expel the poison on its own. He's going to have a tough few nights, I'm afraid, but he'll live."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said wearily as he moved away from the now unconscious Potion's master. He still twitched in pain slightly, but it was clear that his employee was over the worst of it now.

"Albus," Poppy said. "I know it's still day time, but I think you'll agree that you could use some rest. I think the school will manage without you for one evening."

Dumbledore looked towards the two beds, and the two people who had suffered so much in their lives, and was ready to argue, but Madame Pomfrey noticed his train of thought, and interrupted him before he could even protest.

"Sleep, Albus," she said, her tone kind but stern. "You'll be no help to them if you're exhausted. Don't make me order you."

Dumbledore simply nodded, too tired to argue anymore, and slowly made his way to the door of the hospital wing. He paused at the entrance for a moment, turning back to watch as Poppy fussed over the pair of them, even despite the fact that they were both clearly unconscious and therefore completely oblivious to her ministrations.

He allowed himself a small smile as he turned as made his way slowly back to his rooms. They both had a long recovery ahead of them, but at least for now, both Harry and Severus were in very capable hands.

* * *

><p>Harry coughed great hacking coughs, his lungs contracting painfully against his still sore ribs as he tried to suppress any noise. When he had first awoken, earlier on in the day, he had been told by the nurse – Madame Pomfrey, he reminded himself –that his ribs were almost completely healed. They didn't feel particularly healed at present though, Harry thought resentfully as he tried to suppress the coughs that fought their way out of his chest.<p>

Once the fit had finally sated, he carefully pulled himself up on his hospital bed and reached over for his glasses, the darkness of the hospital wing hindering him slightly.

He looked at his watch, squinting slightly in the darkened room as he tried to read the numbers.

_2.38am._

Harry sighed softly as he looked around the empty room. He had slept most of the day, so he wasn't the least bit tired, but he knew there would be no one else around at this time of night.

No one to answer his questions.

After suppressing another round of painful coughs, Harry slid off his bed quietly and padded over to the bathroom. Once he closed the door, he shuffled over to the sink and took a look in the mirror.

The face that greeted him was unfamiliar.

The messy, black hair he recognised, although it did seem longer and even more unruly than he could ever remember it being. He turned his head slightly and ran a shaky hand through it and found the same clump sticking up at the back of his head that had always been there. Although it had once been intensely annoying to him, now he found it strangely comforting.

It reminded him that he was still there, even if his body had changed.

Harry's hand slid from the top of his head and down to his pale face. He watched, mesmerised, as a lone finger reached towards a small scar by his right eye. He had no idea where he had received that small injury; all he knew was that it hadn't been there when he was ten.

His finger traced the small, almost invisible white line with a heavy heart, his breathing becoming slightly more difficult as stress rose up in him. With great difficulty, he suppressed his panic and slowly levelled his breathing, but he knew it would return as soon as he thought about everything he didn't know.

Everything he couldn't remember.

He was terrified really. He was in a strange place, with strange people, and although he knew he wasn't eleven, and although he didn't even feel eleven, he had no memory of his life after that point.

What scared him even more was the fact that all the people who he had met so far, all those who had been so kind to him, were clearly hiding something from him.

His gaze moved towards the familiar lightening scar that was currently sat on an unfamiliar face, and as he looked at the bruises that marked the features he saw in the mirror, and as he felt his ribs twinge slightly in his chest, he thought back to the first time he had woken up in the hospital, in pain and surrounded by unfamiliar faces and in an unfamiliar place.

He had nearly run away, and in fact the only thing that had stopped him was the kind face of the old man.

Dumbledore.

Harry had always had good instincts, and as he had looked into those pale blue eyes, shining with unshed tears as he told Harry where he was, he had known that the old man meant him no harm.

He just wished he wasn't alone right now.

The nice nurse, Madame Pomfrey, had given him some sort of potion thing, that had made his eyes so heavy that he had fallen asleep almost against his will. She had told him that he would feel better once he had drunk it, and he found that it was true; now that he had woken up, the pain was not nearly as intense as it had been before. The problem he had, though, was that he still didn't know anything, and now there was no one here to answer his many questions.

All Dumbledore had told him was that he was at a place called Hogwarts, and that he went to school here.

Apparently, he was sixteen, but now as he stood in his pyjamas, studying his lanky, skinny body, clad only in hospital pyjamas, and looking towards his old, tired eyes, he seemed much older. He didn't look it, and he had no memories to base these feelings on, but he felt like a man who had experienced far more than someone of sixteen should have.

Maybe it was because the last thing he could remember was the two days before his eleventh birthday, but he felt old. Far too old to be only sixteen.

He cupped his hands together to gather some water from the tap and splashed it over his pale face, before turning away from the mirror. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell on it now. He needed answers, but for some reason he didn't quite know yet, he trusted Professor Dumbledore to give them to him. He would just have to wait for the morning.

Harry padded back out into the hospital wing, stretching his aching legs as he walked back over to his bed. On his journey, though, he paused slightly, as a groan filled with pain reached his ears.

It was coming from a bed in the corner. A bed that was now occupied.

He had thought, upon waking, that he was alone in the hospital, but apparently that was no longer the case.

Harry paused, torn between returning to his bed or investigating his strange new roommate. His mind was made up when another groan filled his ears.

The person was clearly in pain, and Harry couldn't just stand by and do nothing, especially when it was clear that no one else was coming to help them.

Harry walked cautiously over to the bed, his body tensed slightly in case he had to make an escape. He had been assured that he was safe here, but his life at the Dursleys had taught him that promises could easily be broken and that he could never be too careful.

Once he was close enough to see the occupant of the bed, he stopped his advances, and turned his attention to the person lying there in pain.

He was a man, at least twenty years older than Harry was, and his long, black greasy hair was plastered to his head with sweat. Whoever this man was, he was tall, his feet reaching the bottom of the bed easily, and although it was clear he was a patient, he was not in hospital issue pyjamas. Instead he wore a greying night shirt that was seemingly soaked through with sweat.

Even from this distance, Harry could make out the grimace of pain on the man's features, and he hadn't missed the arm that was gripped tightly around the man's stomach as if he was trying to squeeze out the pain.

"Sir," Harry began, clearly his voice tentatively to announce his presence. The man's head immediately whipped round to Harry, and Harry was shocked by the look he was greeted with. Anger and scorn replaced the pain momentarily, and Harry had to force himself to hold his ground.

"Potter!" the man whispered furiously, his voice full of venom as he looked at Harry with anger in his eyes.

Harry continued bravely, ignoring the hate in the other man's expression. Apparently this man knew him well enough to know he didn't like him. Why, Harry couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Sir, do you need me to get help?" Harry persevered, taking special care not to allow the hurt he had felt at the comment to show on his face.

"No Potter, I do not need any help!" the man whispered angrily, and it was clear to Harry that he was trying to hide his distress from whoever was in charge of watching over the patients at night.

"Shall I get some medicine for you then, sir?" Harry, also keeping his voice low.

The man looked at him and his expression was considering for a moment, before nodding his head tersely. Apparently the pain was great enough for him to accept help, even from him.

"Get me...a...pain potion," the man ground out, his hand pressing deeper into his abdomen, as he tried to suppress the pain.

"A pain...potion?" Harry asked.

Potion? Where on earth was he?

"Yes Potter! Potion!" the dark haired man snarled. "In the blue vials. Over there."

The man pointed over to the cupboard in the other corner, before turning onto his side facing away from Harry.

Knowing that he was dismissed for the moment, Harry made his way quickly over to the cabinet, careful not to make any noise as he opened it up and extracted a small blue vial from the contents.

What a strange medicine, Harry thought, as he studied the contents with barely concealed curiosity.

He made his way back to the hook-nosed man as quickly as he aching legs would let him, but this time, he walked right up to the bed and tapped the man on the shoulder.

The other man spun around so quickly that Harry almost dropped the vial in fright, but somehow his shaking hands had managed to hold onto it.

Shakily Harry held out his hand and wordlessly offered the medicine, before taking a step back so that he was out of the man's reach.

The man, though, had not noticed his reaction, or he had at least not cared. Instead he grabbed the vial out of Harry's motionless hand before drinking down the contents greedily.

The man's demeanour changed almost immediately, and the hand that had previously been wrapped tightly around his middle slowly relaxed and fell calmly to his side.

"Are you feeling better now?" Harry asked nervously.

"Yes, Potter," the man said, and although the pain had gone, the hatred remained. "But I assure you it will return in time. I was poisoned."

"Poisoned?" asked Harry, shocked. "Why would somebody poison you?

The man didn't answer him, but Harry paid him no mind as he continued to ramble.

"This has to be some sort of dream," Harry mumbled. "People don't just get poisoned. Not in real life. Where the hell am I?"

Harry asked the question to the night, rather than to the man in front of him, and for the third time in asking, he didn't receive the answer he had wanted.

"You're at Hogwarts, Potter," the man replied, confusion interrupting the hatred for a brief moment. "Surely even you, as dim-witted as you are, can remember Hogwarts."

"I've...I've lost my memory, sir," Harry replied, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to suppress the panic. "I mean...I know I'm not eleven...I don't feel eleven...but I can't remember anything after my eleven birthday...and I have no idea who you people are, or where I am, but I'm scared because I woke up with all these bruises and my ribs hurting...and no one will tell me what happened!"

He was almost shouting by the end, all of the pent up emotion finding its way into his voice, but once he had finished he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Potter," began the man, his voice low and the tone much more gentle than before, "do you know who I am?"

"No sir," replied Harry miserably.

"I'm Professor Snape," the man supplied evenly. "I am your Potions Professor here at Hogwarts."

Harry raised his eyes slightly to meet the dark ones of his teacher's. Snape's forehead was furrowed in confusion, but the hatred still hadn't completely left his expression.

"You don't like me, do you?" Harry asked as he refused to lower his gaze.

"No I don't," Snape replied tersely. "But I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual."

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly uncomfortable in the man's presence, "I'll just leave you alone now then." To be told you hated a person, when in fact you felt nothing, had thrown Harry completely off-kilter and he needed space to sort out the mess that he now called his mind.

How could not remember a man he supposedly hated?

"I hope you feel better soon, sir," Harry added belatedly as he turned quickly and made his way back to his own bed.

Harry climbed wearily under the covers and pulled them up to his chin, as if the feel of the cloth could comfort him somehow. With his eyes wide open, he stared at the ceiling, hoping that somehow he could find the answers that he so desperately needed. What on earth had happened in the last five years, and why couldn't he remember?

"Mr Potter?" came an unsure voice from the other unoccupied bed, interrupting Harry's whirring thoughts.

"Yes sir?" Harry asked wearily, without changing his position. He was suddenly tired, mentally more than physically.

"Thank you for your assistance."

It was clear from the way that Snape had said that, that it had been difficult to admit that Harry had been useful.

For some reason though, it lifted Harry's spirits slightly.

"You're welcome, sir," Harry replied quietly, before gingerly turning on his side and closing his eyes.

He was safe here. Safe from what, he didn't know, but he did know that he would get his answers soon. One way or another.

* * *

><p>AN- So, this wasn't the most exciting chapter, but it was a big one, and there really were a lot of explanations needed after the last instalment. Now, the long road to Harry's recovery really begins. It's not going to be all sunshine and daisies, I can tell you that. Hopefully though, it won't be boring either. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you keep appreciating what I'm doing with this story!

Coming up... _Chapter 22: Scars_


	22. Scars

**A/N- **Ah, so there was another slightly long wait for this chapter again. All I can do is apologise and hope that this offering is enough for my loyal readers to forgive me. A slight heads up as well...the next chapter is not likely to even be finished for another couple of weeks yet, let alone published, as I'm going on holiday (vacation for you Americans). I apologise for that too, and ask for your continued patience and support. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

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><p><strong>Chapter 22: <strong>Scars

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><p><em>We'll have the days we break,<em>

_And we'll have the scars to prove it._

_We'll have the bonds that we save,_

_But we'll have the heart not to lose it._

'_**Marchin' On', One Republic**_

* * *

><p>Professor Minerva McGonagall strode purposefully down the corridors, pausing only to give a stern warning glare to a couple of Ravenclaw first years who were staying at the school over the Christmas holidays, and who were seen to be creeping out of a deserted classroom with very suspicious looks on their faces.<p>

The Head of Gryffindor forced herself to continue on past them, even though it was clear that they were up to something, because in all honesty, she had more pressing things on her mind.

In truth though, it wasn't as difficult as it should have been. Currently, she could barely drag her thoughts away from her own lion, the young dark-haired boy who had suffered too much already, and who she feared would suffer more before the end.

She paced through the corridors, her emerald cloak billowing behind her, until she reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath before she proceeded up the stairs, collecting her thoughts as well as she could.

Tiredness seeped into her very bones as she thought about her young lion, and the problems he faced. When she had first heard that Harry was missing, she had had to sit down lest she faint to the floor. It had been so unexpected, even with all the danger the boy had found himself in over the years, but the thing that had hit them all most, especially those closest to him, was how hopeless they had all been to help him.

They really were lucky that Harry had been able to make it back at all, and in truth, the Order had had very little to do with it.

McGonagall shook her head gently as if to dislodge the very thought from her brain, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not get rid of the hopelessness and uselessness that she still felt even now, despite the fact that Harry was safe at Hogwarts.

However, now, as she walked through the thick wooden door into Dumbledore's office, she had to forcibly pull her emotions together. It would help no one, especially not the young man currently recovering in the hospital wing.

"Minerva, hello," greeted Dumbledore softly, as he gestured his deputy to take a seat opposite him. The Headmaster looked weary, the lines on his face far deeper than they had been even a week ago, as if they were a physical representation of the worry that his mind was clearly enveloped in.

"Why did you request to see me Albus?" asked McGonagall, as she sat down wearily, her tired eyes meeting those of the Headmaster. She had a feeling she knew why Dumbledore had asked her to meet with him, but in all honesty, she hoped she was wrong, and that this was just an ordinary meeting.

"You asked to be kept informed with Harry's condition," replied Dumbledore gravely, confirming his deputy's worse fears, and at this announcement McGonagall nodded and sat up slightly in her chair. "Well, there have been some developments, and I feel that you, as Harry's head of House, should be made aware."

"How is he?" she asked softly, noting the tiredness in the old Headmaster's eyes as he talked about the young man he so adored.

"At the moment, he is well, I think," began Dumbledore cautiously, pausing slightly to gather his thoughts, "physically at least. His memory is another matter altogether."

"Does Poppy know what caused the partial amnesia yet?"

"It appears to be a combination of many different factors," replied Dumbledore, as he idly stroked the feathers on Fawkes back. "His head injury, and the swelling it caused on the brain, undoubtedly contributed to Harry's amnesia, and after running some tests, Poppy has found traces of the potion Fudge administered before he escaped. It was a new form of forgetfulness potion."

"No!" McGonagall exclaimed, an aged hand rising rapidly to cover her mouth in shock.

"I'm afraid so," said Dumbledore wearily. "It is not a form we have encountered before, so we can only assume it is experimental. I will have Severus look at the sample, to see if there is an antidote, but he needs to recover first as well."

Minerva nodded in agreement as she too thought of her dark haired colleague. She was one of the few in Hogwarts who knew of the Potion Master's double role in the war, mainly due to her own role in the order, and although she still did not particularly like the man, she did respect him.

"There is more to it than that though, isn't there?" McGonagall asked shrewdly as she noticed the expression on her mentor's face. She felt a thrill of fear enter her body as she thought about the implications of that particular conclusion.

"I'm afraid so, Minerva," Dumbledore replied softly, speaking as if the very words were causing the old Headmaster a deep internal pain. "Poppy suspects that Harry's condition is also...psychological."

"But the head trauma and the potion – "

"– exacerbated Harry's condition." Dumbledore interrupted gently. "But Poppy feels the root of Harry's memory loss can be found in the...traumatic nature of Harry's recent experiences."

At his Deputy's questioning look, Dumbledore took a deep breath, and moved to explain as best as he could without the medical knowledge of Pomfrey at hand.

"Poppy suspects that Harry's mind has..." began Dumbledore slowly, pausing as he tried to find the right word, "...hidden his memories. She believes that the trauma of the torture that he experienced at Fudge Manor has caused Harry's mind to...fracture somewhat."

Dumbledore dropped his head sadly, as his deputy gasped at the revelation. He had not acted dissimilarly when the news had been revealed to him.

"Permanently?" questioned McGonagall desperately.

"It is...unclear at present," Dumbledore told her sadly, trying to ignore the glistening tears that had begun to fall from his own unwilling eyes. "Poppy suspects, and I am inclined to agree with her, that the trauma is not permanent, and that Harry's missing memories will eventually return. However, due to the psychological issues surrounding Harry's case, most of her conclusions are merely guesswork."

"So it is possible that you may be wrong?" McGonagall pointed out almost desperately.

"It is unlikely," Dumbledore replied gravely. "It is no coincidence that the only things that Harry can remember are those that occurred before he received his letter to Hogwarts. Harry's mind has somehow associated the trauma that he endured at the hands of Fudge with everything he has ever experienced of magic, and as a defence mechanism of sorts, he has subconsciously suppressed _all _memories associated with magic in order to protect himself from dealing with the pain that he went through."

"So what is the next step, Albus?" asked McGonagall as she visibly tried to get a grasp on the shock.

"Poppy is currently working to reduce the swelling in Harry's brain," Dumbledore replied gravely.

"And then Harry will be able to regain his memories?"

"Alas, it is not as simple as that," Dumbledore said softly, absently wiping his eyes. "Poppy believes that remaining at Hogwarts is not aiding Harry's recovery. He is overwhelmed, and due to the psychological nature of his amnesia, Poppy -"

What Dumbledore was suggesting began to dawn on her, and anger rose up in McGonagall as her mind made the leap.

"You will not return him to the Dursleys, Albus!" she burst out angrily, having to make a special effort not to shout.

"Minerva - "

"You will not isolate him from the people who care about him, Albus!" interrupted McGonagall, her nostrils flaring in anger.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said firmly, "Harry will never be going back to the Dursleys. Not even at the end of term. Poppy believes that Harry needs to feel as if he is in a safe environment. Unfortunately, Hogwarts cannot provide that, especially when terms begins. It is too much for the boy to handle, and we believe it may even make Harry's mind attempt to protect itself even more."

McGonagall nodded apologetically, apparently realising that Dumbledore did not like this news any more than she did.

"With that in mind," continued Dumbledore, waving away the regret in McGonagall's eyes, "Poppy and I feel that Harry's recovery would be more effective if he were to leave the school."

McGonagall looked as if she would interrupt at this point but Dumbledore raised his aged hand and she stalled her protests for the moment.

"He does not remember us, Minerva," Dumbledore said sadly, a haunted look in his pale blue eyes. "He is scared."

"So what now then?" McGonagall asked miserably, as her hope for her lion faded. "How do we help him?"

"I have a cottage that I occasionally frequent in the summer," Dumbledore said, although his tone was unsure. "I believe it would make a good environment to aid Harry's recovery."

"But the school," Minerva said, confused. "Albus, we need you here."

"I did not intend to leave," replied Dumbledore somewhat sadly.

"But who will help Harry?" McGonagall asked, her brow furrowed. "Surely you don't- "

"Harry will not be alone," Dumbledore said, correctly anticipating his friend's concerns. "I have asked Remus to stay with Harry until he is comfortable enough to return, memories or not."

Comprehension dawned on her as the details of the Headmaster's plan was laid bare for her. Lupin would travel with Harry to this mystery cottage, where the two of them would stay until Harry was sufficiently recovered, and could return to the school. Dumbledore intended to protect the cottage with every protection he was able, including the Fidelus charm. The secret would only be shared among very few, so the two would be isolated.

Harry would have the peace he needed, and if anyone could help the poor boy, McGonagall had faith that Remus could.

* * *

><p>As Lupin made his way quietly into the Hospital Wing, his hearing was invading by the sound of teenagers, rowdy and loud. Remus' exceptional hearing, one of the few benefits he had gained from the night he had received that fateful bite, however, picked up a slightly odd undertone; as if there was an awkwardness, a nervousness in the air.<p>

Making up his mind to interrupt, Remus walked over to the only occupied Hospital bed, after first taking care to make sure there was a smile on his face. Dumbledore had already spoken briefly to Harry, but it was Lupin who had been tasked with revealing the next step in recovery to the teenager, and for that, he would need to earn Harry's trust.

The teenagers had not noticed him yet, and he hung back so that he could observe them for a moment.

Ron and Hermione were playing chess, bickering good-naturedly as he had known the pair to do at Grimauld Place, and Ginny was watching them from her position perched on the edge of Harry's bed. Even so, Lupin did not miss the worried looks they kept shooting to the black haired, and bruised teen, sitting upright in his hospital bed, still clad in pyjamas.

Harry was withdrawn; it was clear to Lupin, even from this distance, that he was uncomfortable with his friends. In truth though, Lupin could understand why.

Harry's three friends were trying to act as if nothing was wrong, but it was clear that each of them, Ginny in particular, were concerned for Harry, and none of them were very good at hiding it.

Harry, it appeared had not missed the worried looks either, and what's more, he didn't seem to know how to deal the concern. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, and Remus could hardly blame him. He obviously did not recognise them, and was not acting the way he usually did with them, and Remus had to swallow deeply to dislodge the lump that had grown in his throat.

Because of course, Harry did not remember him either.

"Professor Lupin," greeted Ginny softy as she noticed him watching them. Three heads turned to him quickly after that, but it was the weariness in Harry's expression that struck Lupin most.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," Lupin replied, a smile back on his face as he avoided, with intense difficulty, staring at Harry. "But its Remus now, remember?"

Ginny flushed slightly, but she nodded in acknowledgement, and Lupin turned his attention to Harry.

"I'm Remus Lupin, Harry," Lupin said gently, realising that since Harry likely did not remember him, an introduction was necessary. "Now, how are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine," answered Harry quietly, a shadow of the boy he had once known. He seemed unwilling to elaborate, choosing instead to fiddle with a thread on the blanket that covered him.

An uncomfortable silence followed, thick in the very air, and Lupin had to almost restrain himself from pushing Harry too quickly.

"Ron, Ginny," began Lupin, filling the silence with a soft, gentle voice, "your mother has asked me to tell you that she requires your presence in Professor Dumbledore's office. I believe you are heading back to the Burrow soon to enjoy the rest of the Christmas holiday and she's needs to inform you of your travel arrangements. Hermione, I believe it would be best if you joined them."

Ron looked angry, and ready to argue, but Hermione, having understood what Remus needed, grabbed the red head's arm to calm him.

Realising defeat before he had even begun, Ron got up without saying another word to Lupin, and began to walk to the door.

"We'll see you soon, Harry," Hermione said softly, following Ron and Ginny, and Lupin could see by the glistening in her eyes that she was close to tears.

Harry watched them leave then without saying a word, and there was an unreadable expression on his face, one that Lupin couldn't quite comprehend.

The uncomfortable silence prevailed again, but Lupin was not a man to give up easily. Harry had always been a nice boy, and whilst he was clearly struggling to deal with everything that was happening, he obviously wasn't trying to be rude. He just didn't know what to say. And in truth, Remus didn't feel much better.

What do you say to a frightened young man, who couldn't remember anything after his eleventh birthday?

"Where's Professor Snape?" asked Harry quietly, nodding towards the empty bed in the corner. Remus hid his surprise at Harry's choice of subject to break the silence, but it was a close thing. It was well known that the two of them did not get on. In fact, the simple fact was that they had always seemed to loath each other.

"He has returned to his own chambers to recover more comfortably," Lupin replied unsure, his brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you know Professor Snape?"

"We met last night," answered Harry as he absently pulled at a thread on the blanket that covered him. "He knew me, but I couldn't..." He trailed off.

"You couldn't remember him," completed Lupin sadly. "It must be difficult."

Harry's head shot up to meet those of his visitor, studying the face of the man to find any trace of pity. He found only sympathy and understanding in the other man's expression though, so he dropped his head wearily once again, as he struggled to find the words to express how he felt.

"It's like..." began Harry quietly, "...it's as if I don't know who I am. I mean, I know my name, and I know who I...used to be. You know, before I came here. But now...who am I?

"Harry..."

"I mean, am I nice?" continued Harry, oblivious to Lupin as he continued to voice his deepest concerns aloud. The fact that he didn't know this man didn't seem to matter at this point. All he seemed to need was someone who was willing to listen. "Do people like me? Am I a good student? Am I a good friend?"

"You are a wonderful friend Harry," implored Lupin. "Surely..."

"I never had any friends before I came...here," answered Harry, correctly guessing Lupin's next concern, his face red as he fought desperately to avoid making eye contact with the man beside him.

"Well, then I am happy to inform you that you have the best of friends in those three," Lupin said kindly, nodding towards the door that Ron, Hermione and Ginny had left through. "And many more besides."

"They seem nice," Harry said quietly, still clearly unsure about something. Harry didn't elaborate though, and Lupin instinctively knew that he couldn't push Harry to talk about it now, especially since he didn't trust him yet.

"And," continued Lupin instead, "I know for a fact that you are a wonderful student. I had the pleasure of teaching you here at Hogwarts when you were thirteen, and you were the top of your class in my subject."

"I was?" Harry asked shyly, glancing up at Lupin to see if he was being sincere. Remus nodded kindly, and after a long moment, Harry must have found what he was looking for, because he dropped his gaze again, this time with a small smile gracing his face.

Lupin fought the urge to grin like a madman after finally seeming to make some sort of connection with Harry, no matter how tenuous it was. That would serve him well for what he had to discuss with the teenager next.

"Harry," began Lupin gently. "We need to discuss what's going to happen next."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, and Lupin noticed some fear had crept into his voice.

"You cannot stay at Hogwarts," Lupin told him.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked towards the man beside him. Lupin was certain of the trace of fear this time.

"Why?" Harry asked quickly, his previous shyness forgotten.

"Madame Pomfrey has explained your condition to you?" Lupin asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, and it was clear to Lupin that the diagnosis had yet to sink into the boy's mind yet.

"Well, she believes that you need to be in a place you feel comfortable in," Lupin informed Harry gently.

"I'm fine here," Harry muttered.

"But you could be better," Lupin said shrewdly. "Am I right in thinking that you are feeling a little overwhelmed by everything?"

Harry's face told Lupin everything he needed to know, but Harry answered regardless.

"It's a lot to take in..." agreed Harry quietly.

"There is no shame in that Harry," Lupin said, having noticed that Harry seemed a little embarrassed about feeling that way. "We believe that you would have a speedier recovery, and have a better chance of regaining your memories, if you were in a quieter environment."

"Oh," Harry replied as he tried to process this. "So where am I going?"

"_We _are going to be staying in a cottage that Professor Dumbledore has agreed to lend to us for a period," said Lupin, and it was not long before dawning comprehension made its way onto Harry's face.

"We?" Harry asked nervously, although he didn't seem particularly worried by this, and Lupin felt the hope rise in his chest at the very thought.

"I will be accompanying you," Lupin said nervously. "As long as you have no complaints, that is?"

In reply, Harry simply smiled shyly, and it was clear that although he still seemed uncomfortable, this small vote of confidence gave Lupin all the answer he needed.

"Wonderful," Lupin said with a broad smile. "You will be okay, Harry. I'll make sure of it."

And for a moment, Harry even believed him.

* * *

><p>The winter weather seemed to have tapered out over Harry's brief hospital stay, and so when he and Lupin made the short trek up the path to Dumbledore's cottage the path was clear of snow, and rain had settled in instead.<p>

Lupin had honestly not known what to expect of the cottage, particularly taking into account Dumbledore's eccentricities, but he, and he suspected Harry, had been pleasantly surprised. From what they had seen as they walked from the apparation point, the cottage was surrounded by a large forest area, but it seemed a lot more friendly than the forbidden forest.

After an uncomfortable apparation for Harry, they had both read the address given to them in Dumbledore's scripts, and the cottage revealed itself to be small, but homely and cosy, and since there was just the two of them staying there, they didn't need much room anyway.

Harry had been quiet since their chat in the hospital wing, and his goodbyes to those staying at Hogwarts had been muted at best.

Now, as they walked through the door and began to explore their temporary home, Harry was almost silent, only offering his opinion if asked a direction. The young man, his face still marred by cuts and bruises which Pomfrey had assured him would heal in time, was clearly lost in his own thoughts.

There were only two bedrooms in the cottage, and Lupin, eager to put Harry at ease, allowed his charge to choose which one he preferred. Harry, oddly enough, had seemed more comfortable with the much smaller guest bedroom, but Lupin had refrained from asking him about it after taking into account his charge's somewhat pensive mood.

Instead, Lupin had left Harry alone to unpack, choosing instead to look in the kitchen and see what food they had. It was getting on for lunchtime now anyway.

Having found the fridge and cupboards fully stocked, Lupin sent a silent thanks to Dumbledore, and immediately began to fix up some pasta and sauce. He had never been a great cook, but living as a bachelor had taught him a thing or two about self-reliance, and he had learned to get by.

He placed the simple meal on the small wooden table in the kitchen, checking his watch for the time. They had been here for over an hour, and Harry had been hiding in his room for most of that time. Deciding to go and see what was wrong with his charge, Lupin cast a quick warming charm and made his way up the stairs.

Remus knocked on Harry's door tentatively, slightly concerned now at the time it was taking Harry to unpack his few belongings. When there was no answer, Remus' concern grew, and he gently pushed the unlocked door open, his free hand gripped tightly around his wand as he raised it cautiously.

"Harry?" whispered Lupin.

Remus peeked his head through the door, looking for his charge and half expecting to see Harry in trouble or in pain.

Instead though, he saw the familiar black hair laid across the pillow as Harry lay on his back staring unresponsively at the ceiling, oblivious to the tears running unchecked down his pale, bruised cheeks.

"Harry?" repeated Lupin, this time raising his voice slightly and clearing his throat in order to get the young man's attention.

Harry's head whipped round to meet the concerned expression of Lupin, his eyes widening as he slowly realised that his apparent breakdown had been witnessed. Embarrassment flushed in the teen, and he wiped furiously at the tears still dripping down his face, leaving behind red ringed eyes that spoke of hopelessness and desperation.

"What's wrong Harry?" asked Lupin sadly, as he walked slowly over to the bed, and perched on the edge of it. Harry pulled himself up, but his eyes remained focused on his hands that lay listlessly on his lap, still covered in the remnants of tears.

"Nothing," replied Harry hoarsely. "I'm fine."

"Forgive me, Harry," Lupin said gently, "but I know you. Quite well in fact. You are _not _fine."

"It's just..." Harry began, but he soon trailed off. Lupin recognised that Harry was simply trying to find the right words to express himself, rather than avoiding the question altogether, so, although it bothered him greatly that Harry didn't feel comfortable speaking to him yet, he forced himself to remain patient.

For Harry's sake.

"Do you know how I got this scar?"

Lupin was pulled out of his pensive thoughts by the question, and he whipped his head around to face Harry once again, half expecting the teenager to be holding back his fringe and pointing to the lightning bolt scar that had become legend in its own right.

Instead though, Lupin looked on confused as Harry tentatively raised his left hand, clenched almost so tightly that the skin had turned white. Horror rose in Lupin and he watched with mounting shock as Harry held his hand out to Remus, and turned it so that the back was clear for the other man to see.

Blazoned white against the already pale skin were the words, _I must not tell lies._

Five words.

Five words that almost made Lupin lose the quiet control that he had been able to maintain even through the worst times of his life.

Not once during his childhood did he ever lose control over the knowledge of his condition. It had been frightening and desperate, and it had nearly destroyed his family, but he had never become angry over it. It would have done no good at all.

In fact, over time, the opposite had become true. His childhood became about control. Being out of control was when things became dangerous.

Control meant safety.

Not once during his school years did he ever lose the quiet control that had become so valuable to the Marauders, his newest and best friends. Not when a prank had gone wrong, nor when a prank was played on him.

He had not lost his control, even when Sirius had led Snape to the Whomping Willow, not only putting their rival in grave danger but almost also costing him, the Werewolf, the safety and comfort of Hogwarts. He had nearly been expelled, and had it been any one but Dumbledore in charge, no doubt he would have been. But no, even then he had not lost his careful control. He had been angry, but mostly he had just felt panic, desperation, and revulsion, aimed only at himself. He had always believed himself to be a monster, and to have that proof laid out so clearly in front of him had nearly caused him to break down in tears, but in the end, he had not.

He had kept in control.

The one time he could remember even feeling close to this anger, was on that Halloween night all those years ago. Grief clouded the memories of that time, but he would never forget the burning anger in his stomach as he had been informed of the betrayal and murder of three of his friends, and the conviction of the other. He had almost lost everything that night, and it had been in an almost desperate state that Lupin had clung to his control like a life jacket. Had he not had his control, he would have drowned, of that he was certain.

But now, as he stared at the horrific words, carved in the hand that was now trembling in front of him, Lupin had to fight to keep his control.

For the first time in his memory, Lupin didn't care if he lost it.

"It's just...I have all these scars on my body," said Harry quietly, still talking to his lap, and he pulled his hand back to wrap his arms around his chest protectively. "Scars I don't...remember receiving, and I hate it! I hate not knowing who I am, what I've been through. I feel different and I don't know why!"

Harry began to ramble, and Lupin simply looked on in horror and shock, not able to find to words to bring even the semblance of comfort to the teenager breaking down in front of him.

"This one's not normal though is it," Harry asked, although he may have been alone in the room for all the attention he was showing Lupin. He gestured to his hand wildly. "This one isn't normal in any...world, is it? Did I do it myself – "

"No," said Remus firmly, unable to allow Harry to go on thinking that he could ever do that to himself. "You did nothing to deserve that scar."

"But why is it there then?" Harry asked desperately. "Am I a liar? I must have carved the words in myself. There's nothing else that could have caused them – "

"A blood quill," interrupted Lupin sharply, although his anger was not directed at Harry.

"A...what?"

"A blood quill," Lupin repeated. "_Someone _forced you to use a special quill for lines I expect. Only the words are not only left on the parchment."

"That's...that's horrible," Harry exclaimed, shocked as he stared at thr writing in horror.

"It is unforgivable," Lupin said bluntly. "May I?"

Lupin gestured towards the scared hand and when Harry offered it tentatively, Lupin gently pulled it towards himself so that he could see the damage more clearly.

"The lines are faint," Lupin said gravely, "but there is no doubt that they are permanent. You must have been heavily exposed to such treatment, for it to leave such a lasting _impression."_

"Who would do this though?" Harry asked desperately, his expression stricken. "How many enemies do I have?"

Harry tone turned desolate and Lupin fought the urge the pull Harry into his arms and never let go. He knew such a show of affection would not go down particularly well at the moment, so he held his arms firmly by his sides.

"What do you mean?" he asked instead, his tone gentle.

"Voldemort, whoever did this, Snape," Harry listed off. "Dumbledore explained some things to me, before we left."

"Snape?" asked Lupin, curious as to how Harry justified calling the Potions Professor an enemy.

"Yeah," Harry said glumly. "He hates me."

"I don't think he hates you," Lupin told Harry with a frown. "He dislikes you maybe, but never hate. And do not think for one second that that makes him an enemy."

Harry just shrugged. "There are others who are against me though, aren't there? People who want me hurt."

Harry rubbed his chest, where the phantom pain still remained even though the real pain had long gone.

"Some," replied Lupin reluctantly, thinking of Fudge, "but you have an equal, if not greater, number of friends who will stand by your side no matter what."

Harry looked up to meet the amber eyes of Lupin, apparently hoping to find some sincerity in the other man's expression.

"You are not alone anymore, Harry," continued Lupin, trying to ignore the scrutiny. "_Never_ forget that."

Harry found a lump rising in his throat, as emotion came upon him, and he couldn't seem to form a response. Lupin didn't seem to require an reply though, and the other man stood up slowly and stretched slightly before moving towards the door.

"Now do you want to come down for some lunch?" Lupin asked kindly, keen to let the choice be Harry's. Pomfrey had left him strict instructions.

Don't push him. Make him feel comfortable. Give him some control over his situation.

"I'll be down in a minute," Harry replied quietly as he pulled himself off the bed.

Lupin gave him a small, encouraging smile and moved to leave the room, but Harry held him back.

"R-Remus," said Harry, and the name felt unfamiliar on his tongue for some reason, as if he should be calling the man something else.

"Yes Harry?" asked Lupin kindly.

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>AN- So how was it? Were Harry and Lupin written well? How about McGonagall and Dumbledore? I just want to mention that my medical knowledge is negligible at best, and anything I do know I learned from TV or novels. I say this, because it is entirely possible that my medical diagnosis for Harry, and his subsequent treatment, is not realistic. However this is fanfiction, and since I included magic, I think I'm allowed a little leeway. If anyone does want to correct me, feel free to do so in a review. I may end up changing what I've written if your explanation is better. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter regardless, and that it made sense. Thanks for reading!

Coming up... _Chapter 23: The Long Road to Recovery_


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